Harry Potter and the Perfect Ham-and-Cheese-and-Tomato Sandwich
by SteveAtwater
Summary: It's gonna get stupid in here. That's not a genre, but it fits better than either of the two selected.
1. The Story Goes Off The Rails

I know I probably shouldn't start the story with author's notes...but you know what? THIS STORY NEEDS AUTHOR'S NOTES.

So before I say anything else: this is a crackfic. It may or may not be a trollfic (not sure on that one), but it's definitely a crackfic. It's...it's not sane is what I'm saying. In fact, it may be taken as proof that I'm insane.

Long story short, these notes are your excuse to back out without reading this. Like, when a guy opens a surprise package and finds out that it's full of maggots, that kind of thing. You've just peeled off the wrapping paper, and now you smell the stench of decay...these notes are that stench.

This story is really immature. And full of cursing. And really stupid. If you continue to read it, you should know that it's going to be stupid. And this isn't even the best way to read it, either. So if you have read this warning and choose to read on, that's your perogative, but I just want you to know, when you're scratching your head and wondering how you ever thought reading a story called _Harry Potter and the Perfect Ham-and-Cheese-and-Tomato Sandwich_ was a good idea...

I warned you.

I WARNED you.

* * *

It was a calm, sunny summer day in...some British town, it's not really that important. And in this unimportant town, was an unimportant house, with an unimportant household that consisted of a man, a woman, their son, and their nephew, whom they had adopted after his parents had died in a car crash. In this house, the man was not around, as adults usually have to work in the summertime, but his wife was downstairs, making lunch for her sons.

The two boys were upstairs in one of their bedrooms; whose it was is unimportant, since this is only the starting point for the story and the geography of the house will likely not figure into the main story at all. In fact, we're only here because...why are we here again?

The door explodes into the house.

Right, that's why we're here. The door has just exploded into the house, causing Petunia Dursley (the housewife who resides in this unimportant house in this unimportant town) to let out a shriek and round the corner from the kitchen to see exactly what has caused such an eruption.

The cause of this eruption is a man. Well, some might call him a man, but this man would correct them, for he is much larger than an average man; he is, in fact, a half-giant, and we dearly hope his mother was the giant half of the pairing.

"WHERE IS HE?" the half-giant, whom we will eventually learn is called Hagrid, bellows at the stunned housewife.

"V-V-Vernon's at his j–" Petunia manages to stammer out before Hagrid crosses the distance between them and lifts Petunia up by the front of her blouse.

"I'm not talking about _him_," the half-giant growls into her stunned face.

Petunia does not react as expected. Instead of quivering into herself and shying away, she gets an angry look in her eyes.

"YOU STAY AWAY FROM MY BOYS!" she screeches and begins hitting the half-giant over the head with her bare hands. Predictably, this does nothing but frustrate the half-giant.

"Stop doing that!" he barks, only to receive a fist in the nose for his troubles. "Oh, that's it!"

Hagrid rears back and then throws his head forward like a headbanger in a moshpit. His head collides with Petunia's, and she goes down like a housewife that just got headbutted by a half-giant.

Hagrid scratches his chin absentmindedly. "Now, if I were an abused little boy, where would I be..."

His eyes alight on the cupboard under the stairs, and he strides towards it purposefully. He throws the cupboard door open, only to reveal a bunch of art supplies, broken electronics, and two cases of Mountain Dew. His brow furrows, but then clears as he hears some sounds from upstairs.

"That must be Pigboy Crabshaw," he declares to himself. "_He'll_ know where to find Harry Potter, I reckon."

So saying, Hagrid thumps up the stairs, which shake with each footfall–for while they were built to handle fat Englishmen, a fully-grown half-giant is quite a stressor on them. He comes to one of the rooms at the end of the hall and throws this door open. And by throws, I mean he literally grabs the doorknob and throws the door forward off its hinges.

Inside are two boys, staring at him in shock and completely ignoring their round of Mortal Kombat. It's a shame, too; Harry was one hit away from landing the killing blow and launching his finishing move.

Hagrid grins. "Yer a wizard, Harry."


	2. The Story Goes Even More Off The Rails

"...what?" the pigboy (whom we are later to learn is named Dudley–and who names their kid Dudley, anyway? It has "dud" in the name. It just sounds dull! Even Dudley Do-Right, who was nominally a hero, wasn't that bright. He was a real moron. And so is this pigboy. Then again, pigboys are often stupid, and I should know. I am one) said stupidly.

"I'm sorry," Hagrid says sarcastically. "Is your name Harry?"

"...no," the pigboy admits. "My name is Dudley." (I told you we were later to learn he was named Dudley!)

"Right, then," Hagrid says with a grin, turning to the black-haired, green-eyed boy-with-a-lightning-bolt-scar-on-his-forehead sitting next to Dudley on the bed. "Yer Harry Potter, right?"

Harry shakes his head. "Dursley, actually."

"Um," Hagrid says awkwardly. "Are you sure."

"...yes?" Harry says uncomfortably.

"Well then, Harry," Hagrid says. "I've got good news! I've come to take you away!"

"...um," Harry says eloquently.

"That's right, Harry!" Hagrid continues. "Come with me and I will show you things you've never dreamed, sensations you've never felt before! Come with me and embrace your destiny!"

Harry looks at him, shocked.

"Don't be shy," Hagrid coaxes. "I've shown plenty of young boys their future."

"I need an adult," Harry blurts out.

"I am an adult," Hagrid says. He scratches his head. "Although, then again, my last girlfriend left me because she said I was too childish...but what does she know? It takes _effort_ to build a scale model of a school out of Legos, dammit!"

"...why were you building models of schools out of Legos?" Harry asks uncomfortably.

"Ah, well, you know how it is," Hagrid explains. "You spend enough time around a place, you get to know all it's little nooks and crannies. All the places you can hide and nobody would find you, even if you're as big as me, no matter how much noise you make. Why, you could disappear forever in some of those places and nobody would be the wiser."

"...Dudley, could you please take out your phone and call the P-O-L-I-C-E?" Harry asks.

"Why can't you do it?" Dudley whines. "I don't want to get beat up by the large angry man!"

"Well my phone's charging, so you have to do it!" Harry shoots back.

Hagrid looks confued. "Is there something I'm missing?"

"Oh, no, nothing at all," Harry says quickly.

"Good!" Hagrid says. "Well then, Harry...wait a second."

Dudley pauses, midway to dialing 999, and shares a look of horror with his cousin.

"They never told you, did they," Hagrid says quietly, a look of fury coming over his face. "They never told you about magic!"

"What about magic?" Harry asks.

"Well, you see," Hagrid says, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder, "yer a wizard, Harry."


	3. The Plot Stubbornly Refuses To Advance

Harry stares up at Hagrid. "Yes, and?"

Hagrid looks unsure. "And what?"

"I'm a wizard," Harry says. "So what?"

"So–so–" Hagrid sputters. "So you need to come with me! To school!"

"To school," Harry says slowly. "The one with the places you could hide me and I'd never be found, no matter how much I scream?"

"Right!" Hagrid says, grinning. His grin swiftly drops off his face. "Wait. When you put it like that it sounds really bad."

"Dudley, finish calling the C-O-P-S," Harry says.

"Finish calling the C-O-P-S?" Dudley asks.

"Finish calling the C-O-P-S," Harry confirms.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Hagrid yelps, waving them off. "Harry, there's no need to be like that! You have to attend school!"

"I do," Harry says. "Compulsory schooling has been the law in England since, like, 1876."

(Aren't my Wikipedia skills amazing?)

"Not that kind of school," Hagrid corrects. "You need to go...to Hogwarts!"

"...Hogwarts?" Harry asks, unimpressed.

"That's right!" Hagrid says proudly. "Hogwarts, the best wizarding school in England!"

"The best wizarding school in England is called Hogwarts?" Harry asks.

"Yuh-huh!" Hagrid says, nodding and grinning.

"Hog. Warts," Harry clarifies. "Hogwarts."

"Yep!" Hagrid agrees.

"Somebody decided to start a school–a wizarding school, no less–and they went with Hogwarts," Harry confirms. "As in, the warts on a hog. Not a warthog, because that's an actual animal, but the warts of a hog. A hog's...warts."

Hagrid frowns. "It was four somebodys, actually."

"Ah, so a _committee_ decided to name their school after warts," Harry says.

"On a hog," Dudley adds.

"On a hog," Harry agrees.

"Well, when you put it like that, it sounds really bad," Hagrid admits. "But Harry! You need to learn to control and use your magic!"

"So what?" Harry asks.

"So what?" Hagrid asks, befuddled. "So Hogwarts is the place to teach you that!"

"No thanks," Harry says. "Hogwarts sucks."

Hagrid draws himself up, affronted. "Hogwarts does _not_ suck!"

"The Defense against the Dark Arts position is a revolving door, the Potions teacher hates kids, teaching, and himself, the Headmaster is too busy preparing to fight a war to pay any attention to the curriculum, faculty, or student body, and worst of all everyone is sorted into a house when they're eleven that's expected to determine how they act and what they do for the rest of their life," Harry says. "Also, everybody graduates, so there's no reason to actually pay attention in class, plus it's a boarding school which just magnifies the bullying problems of a regular school. At least you get to come home from those every day."

"...well, when you put it like that, it sounds really bad," Hagrid admits. "But you still need to attend a magical school!"

"I know," Harry says. "And I'm doing that."

"...what?" Hagrid asks, sounding just as dumb as Dudley did in the previous chapter.

"I got my acceptance letter in March," Harry says. "I was a bit surprised, but it made sense that I'd be magic, what with all the weird stuff that happens around me and the fact that I absolutely hate the taste of Dr. Pepper but love Mr. Pibb."

"...what," Hagrid says blankly.

"Yeah, it's the strangest thing," Harry agrees. "Dr. Pepper? Horrid. Mr. Pibb? Fantastic."

"But we don't send out our acceptance letters until June!" Hagrid protests. "How could you have possibly gotten your Hogwarts letter in March?"

"Well, like I said, I'm not attending Hogwarts," Harry says. "It was another school, and after doing some research I came away very impressed."

Hagrid looks baffled. "There's another magic school in Britain?"

"No," Harry says. "And besides, Hogwarts is in Scotland."

"Wait, hold on," Dudley says. "Are you telling me you broke my door just to invite Harry to your school?"

Hagrid nods. "And headbutted your mother."

"Mom!" Dudley shrieks, rushing out of the room and downstairs to attend to his mother and conveniently exiting a scene in which he wasn't doing much anyway.

"So, this school..." Hagrid prompts.

"It starts in November," Harry says. "Admittedly, I don't get Christmas break, but I've never been that religious. Plus, I do get an extra-long spring break, and this will give me more time to prepare for entering the world of magic."

"But Harry!" Hagrid protests. "You have to attend Hogwarts! We need you for the story!"

"Yeah, about that..." Harry says gingerly. "This story...it looks like it sucks."

"...how can you tell?" Hagrid asks.

"Well, I mean, just look at the tags," Harry says. "Gay Bashing? Politically Incorrect? Competent Gilderoy Lockhart? If I had to guess, this story is being written by an emotionally-stunted manchild with a tiny penis, oversized ego, and bad sense of humor. Plus, I mean, just look at the writing style. Who uses this many ellipses? It's plainly an attempt to slow down the plot of the story without actually pausing–and another thing, does the story really need to be slowed down? We're in the third chapter and _still_ stuck in Dudley's bedroom! There hasn't been any actual action since you knocked my adoptive mother unconscious! And finally, and yes I know this is a long list, but seriously? _Harry Potter and the Paint Huffers_? I want NO PART of any story with that title."

"...you know, that tags thing is going to look really weird to anybody who reads this on FF dot net," Hagrid points out.

Harry frowns. "Why aren't they reading it on Archive? That's where all the cool kids are."

This is fanfiction, there are no cool kids.

"Yeah, well, Archive still provides a better experience all the way," Harry says. "It's superior when it comes to reading, and finding stuff that suits your interests, and on the posting end it allows for more coding, not to mention the ability to place pictures in the story itself as a form of illustration. Overall, it's a much better experience. The other site only keeps its top spot due to having a better domain name and being faster to register it."

That's not the point.

"Hey, uh, author person?" Hagrid interrupts. "Could we get back to the story?"

"Fine," Harry says. "Either way, I'm not going to Hogwarts."

"Well then how are we going to advance the story?" Hagrid asks.

Just then Dudley ran into the room like a convenient plot device.


	4. We Finally Get Out Of The First Scene

"I know!" Harry says brightly. "Why don't we send _Dudley_ to Hogwarts!"

Hagrid blinks several times. "Because he's not magic."

"Yeah, but the author can fix that," Harry says, waving off his concerns. "Right?"

Why would I want to?

Harry rolls his eyes. "You were planning on it anyway. That's what the previous few poorly-written chapters were about."

Well, yes, but could you at least argue with me about it so that it doesn't look so much like I pulled it out of my ass?

"Fine," Harry says. "If you do this, you can use Dudley as the voice of the author and totally write yourself into the Harry Potter canon. And don't try and say you don't want to. This is totally a fictional universe you'd visit if you could be a Mary Sue."

To be fair, I want to visit my _own_ universe as a Mary Sue.

"Yes, but that would suck for everyone. Just send Dudley to Hogwarts as a thinly-veiled stand-in for yourself."

Dude, that would be like attending middle school again. And middle school SUCKS. For EVERYONE.

"Yeah, but you could rewrite your middle school experience so that you had magic. And charisma. And muscles. And brains. You get the point."

"Don't I get a say in this?" Dudley cuts in.

No.

"See? You're already planning to overwrite his personality with your own! Although, you did already make us bros, and had the Dursley family not suck as much, so you pretty much rewrote everyone's characterization anyway. Which you're still planning to do."

Fine, whatever. I'll be Dudley.

Dudley blinks, then looks down, disappointed. "Did my penis just shrink?"

Probably.

Hagrid rolls his eyes. "Great. A dick joke. What an auspicious start to your brother's wizarding career."

Harry waves off the half-giant. "Now give him magic."

And then Dudley was a wizard.

Harry turns to Hagrid. "There. Does that work for you?"

"I guess," Hagrid says doubtfully. "But how are we ever going to defeat the Dark Lord without you?"

"The same way you saved it with me, of course," Harry says. "Through cunning, skill, friendship, luck, and a little bit of carefully-applied deus ex machina."

"...carefully-applied what?"

"See, this is why I don't want to attend Hogwarts," Harry says. "Well, that and the name, of course, but seriously. For a group of people that uses butchered Latin in pretty much everything, it's honestly disgraceful that you don't require courses in Latin. Now while I will admit that studying a dead language has few uses in the modern world, especially since English has taken the place of Latin as the common language of the world, insofar as such a thing can exist, it strikes me that Latin is alive and useful in some form in the wizarding world, and the fact that you don't require your students to study it is foolish and shortsighted."

Hagrid nods. "Aye. You'll find a lot of things are foolish when it comes to wizards."

"So what do we do now?" Dudley cuts in, eager to establish himself as more than just a supporting character in this story.

"Now we'll have to buy you school supplies," Hagrid says. "Although how you'll accomplish that without a penny to your name in the wizarding world, I don't know."

"Author?" Harry prompts.

And then Harry decided to give some of the vast familial fortune he inherited over to his cousin; enough to pay for his school, food, and cable TV.

"You're a jerk, but I suppose that's not too heavy a burden."

Somebody hasn't seen the prices cable monopolies charge.

"You hush," Harry says. "Is everything taken care of?"

Hagrid nods. "I think so. I'll be back to take...Dudley, was it?"

"Yes," Dudley says.

"I'll be back next Saturday so we can go shopping," Hagrid says.

A loud, pained groan emanates from downstairs, and Hagrid turns white.

"Uh, I don't suppose there's a way out besides the downstairs, is there?" the half-giant asks worriedly.

"Not unless you want to go out the window," Dudley says sarcastically.

Hagrid nods and jumps out the window, shattering it and leaving broken pieces of glass to tinkle on Dudley's bedroom floor.

"...that guy's fucking nuts," Dudley says after a minute.

Harry grins. "And you're going to his school."


	5. We Go To Diagon Alley

Next Saturday, Hagrid took Dudley to Diagon Alley over the objections of his father, who was upset that Hagrid had knocked Petunia unconscious, and his mother, who was upset about being knocked unconscious by Hagrid. They were also both upset at the property damage Hagrid had inflicted upon them by destroying two doors and a window, and at the deus ex machina of their biological son suddenly gaining magical powers. So, of course, Hagrid took the only sensible course of action and grabbed Dudley, throwing him over his shoulder and running over to his motorcycle, which he leapt on and drove into the distance, Dudley screaming until he puked all over Hagrid's back, nauseated not only by the unpredictable motions of the road and Hagrid's poor driving skills but also by the length of this sentence.

When they arrive at Diagon Alley, Hagrid's back is drenched in puke, and when he sets Dudley down Dudley simply keels over and lies on the ground, trying to recover from the ride.

"Don't worry about it," Hagrid says kindly. "I've been covered in worse after a long night with the boys. At least you weren't eating pizza or Chinese food."

Dudley groans.

"Anyway," Hagrid says, "we have to go to the bank now. Pick up your money, you know."

"That's alright," Dudley manages to gasp out. "Harry set up a debit card for me."

Hagrid's brow wrinkles. "What's a debit card?"

"It's...I have my money," Dudley says.

"Oh," Hagrid says. "Well, I have business at the bank anyway, so come along with me!"

With that, he picks up Dudley and carries him to the bank. Dudley groans, nauseated not only by being slung over Hagrid's shoulder again, but also by the smell of his own vomit rising up from the back of Hagrid's leather jacket.

"Hello, bank people!" Hagrid booms as he throws the door to the bank open. "Don't mind me! I'm just here on OFFICIAL HOGWARTS BUSINESS FOR PROFESSOR DUMBLEDORE! And also, if I could have one of your lollipops when I have completed my OFFICIAL HOGWARTS BUSINESS FOR PROFESSOR DUMBLEDORE, that would be great! Now, who here can help me with my OFFICIAL HOGWARTS BUSINESS FOR PROFESSOR DUMBLEDORE?"

"Sir!" a teller reprimands him. "If you could please get in line and wait your turn?"

"Are you sure about that?" Hagrid asks. "After all, this is OFFICIAL HOGWARTS BUSINESS FOR PROFESSOR DUMBLEDORE. I was informed that OFFICIAL HOGWARTS BUSINESS FOR PROFESSOR DUMBLEDORE should be top priority! Are you sure you can't help me with my OFFICIAL HOGWARTS BUSINESS FOR PROFESSOR DUMBLEDORE?"

The teller pinches the bridge of her nose. "Are you going to keep yelling until you get what you want?"

"Yelling?" Hagrid says loudly. "I would never yell! Especially about TOP-SECRET OFFICIAL HOGWARTS BUSINESS FOR PROFESSOR DUMBLEDORE!"

The teller weighs her options for a few seconds and then sighs. "Fine. Come with me. But the boy stays out here."

"That's fine," Dudley gurgles as Hagrid sets him down. "I'll just sit here and wait for my stomach to settle."

Dudley stumbles over to a chair and passes out.

* * *

Dudley is brought back to consciousness by a stinging pain across his face. He instinctively covers it with his hands.

"OW! WHAT THE HELL!" he yelps.

"I told yeh!" Hagrid says proudly to the teller. "All you need to wake someone up is a good slap!"

"That's wonderful, sir," the teller says through clenched teeth. "Will you two be leaving now."

"I suppose so," Hagrid says. "Now that I'm done with my OFFICIAL HOGWARTS BUSINESS FOR PROFESSOR DUMBLEDORE!"

"Great. Fantastic. Bye," the teller says frostily.

"Goodbye," Hagrid says, grabbing Dudley by the wrist and pulling him to his feet. "And thanks for all your help with my OFFICIAL HOGWARTS BUSINESS FOR PROFESSOR DUMBLEDORE!"

Hagrid and Dudley head into the street.

"Are we done?" Dudley asks, tiredly.

"Not yet," Hagrid says. "We have to get you robes!"

"Robes?" Dudley asks.

"Robes," Hagrid says.

"What are robes?"

"Clothes, of course!"

"But I'm wearing clothes."

Hagrid shakes his head. "Those won't do. Not at Hogwarts! You'll need a proper set of robes, you will!"

"That's too complex," Dudley says. "I'd rather just wear jeans and t-shirts."

Hagrid laughs. "You're a card, uh...whatever your name is. A real cut-up! But no, I know just the place. Madam Malkin's!"

* * *

Minutes later, Dudley finds himself being fussed over by a tailor attempting to figure out his measurements. Standing next to him is a boy with bone-blonde hair and ash-gray eyes. There is no reason for them to interact, except for the sake of plot convenience and the author wanting this scene to have a point.

"Hello," Dudley's neighbor says primly. "My name is Draco Malfoy. I'm a rude, bigoted, racist, narcissistic bully of a rich boy who whines to his father all the time and expects to be treated like royalty no matter what he does. And you?"

"I'm Dudley Dursley," Dudley says.

"That's a stupid name," Draco says. "Who names their child Dudley? It has "dud" right in the name. Has there ever been a good dud?"

"Milk Duds," Dudley points out.

Draco rolls his eyes. "Those are only good at the movies. Have you ever had them without the benefit of cinematic entertainment? Trust me, they lose their appeal very quickly."

"Duds as in fashion?" Dudley suggests. "Like happening duds?"

"There's a reason that slang went _out_ of fashion," Draco says. "Anyway, clothes-making peasant woman, are my robes nearly done? I'd like to finish this up before my father gets here."

"Why, what's wrong with your father?" Dudley asks.

The door to the shop gets thrown open.

"OH YEAH!" a voice booms. "LUCIUS MALFOY IS IN THE HOWWWWWWZZZE!"

Draco winces. "_That's_ my father."

Dudley grimaces in acknowledgement.

"DOBBY!" the voice booms from behind them. A small pop is heard. "HIT MY MUSIC!"

The shop shakes with the sound of music so loud, it takes Dudley a few seconds to figure out that he's hearing an acoustic guitar.

_Polly wants a cracker_

_Think I should get off her first_

"DOBBY!" the voice booms, somehow cutting through the music. "WRONG MUSIC!"

_Think she wants some water_

_To put out the blowtorch_

The music cuts off, leaving behind a blessed silence that almost makes Dudley's ears ring.

"Why do we even have that music?" Lucius wonders normally. "Oh well. DRACO!"

Draco cringes and grits his teeth. "Yes, father?"

"ARE YOUR ROBES READY YET?" Lucius shouts.

"Not yet, father," Draco says through gritted teeth.

"WELL WHEN THEY ARE, THEY BETTER BE BANGING!" Lucius declares. "THAT SHIT BETTER BE OFF THE HOOK, BOYEEEE! MY SON HAD BETTER BE THE MOST BANGIN' BITCH AT ALL OF HOGWARTS! WOO!"

With that, Lucius storms out of the store, leaving behind his son and a shell-shocked Dudley.

Draco glares at Dudley. "What?"

Dudley stares straight ahead. "I...I'm sorry."

"I am too," Draco says. "God, if only my magic was better, I could attend a different school. A better school! Someplace my father couldn't bother me!"

"Oh, does he call you a lot?" Dudley asks innocently.

Draco winces. "Something like that."

* * *

Dudley's robes were finished within half an hour. Once he gets them and pays, he heads outside, where Hagrid is waiting for him. Thankfully, the shop had refused to let him in due to the vomit staining his jacket that he still hasn't made any attempt to wash off or clean up.

"Well now, that should be everything!" Hagrid says proudly. "You've got your robes, you've got your wand–"

"I don't have my wand," Dudley tells the half-giant.

"Oh," Hagrid says. "Well then! Wand time it is!"

And with that, Hagrid drags Dudley off to a wandsmith. Once again, though, Hagrid is kept out because of his pukejacket, and since this entire scene probably only existed for the purposes of worldbuilding and foreshadowing in the original story that the author has not read, the author decided to ignore it and assume that Dudley eventually found his wand, bought his books, and got taken home by Hagrid, who only stopped his motorcycle long enough to dump Dudley on his front lawn before roaring off into the distance.


	6. There Is A Train

The rest of August seemed to pass in a rush, mainly because the author didn't want to make up a bunch of stuff about the Dursleys home life and so decided to avoid the topic altogether, meaning that the story skipped directly to King's Cross Station, where Dudley is slated to board a train located at Platform 9.75. The Dursleys stand at the station, gathered together in a melancholy group that is both proud of Dudley and worried about the unfamiliar world he's going to take his first steps into. Well, first steps aside from having dealt with Harry's accidental magic all his life and the trip to Diagon Alley that he would rather forget.

Vernon places his hands on Dudley's shoulders. "Son, I want you to work hard, make friends, and above all, don't get killed by the weird randomness that seems to rampage through that school every year."

Harry nods. "I'm so glad I'm not going there. No offense."

"You're the one who sent me there," Dudley points out, but his voice is devoid of bitterness.

"Yeah, but if I hadn't, you wouldn't have magic," Harry says. "And then we would have grown up in different worlds, ended up unable to relate to each other, and probably ended up resenting each other."

"Okay, yeah," Dudley admits. "I guess we dodged a bullet there."

"Plus, the author was just going to find a way to tell a story at Hogwarts somehow," Harry adds.

"What a moron," Dudley says.

"Yes," Vernon agrees. "The author is a complete moron."

"Getting back on topic," Petunia says, kneeling down to look her son in the eyes, "we're both very proud of you, Dudley. Now we want you to stay safe and study hard, and remember, you can always call us, no matter what."

Dudley nods. "I will, mom."

Harry pulls his cousin into a hug. "I'll miss you, Dudders."

"Me too, Harry," Dudley says, returning the hug. "Me too."

They break the hug and stand around uncomfortably for a few seconds. Vernon coughs.

"So!" he declares. "Where's this 9.75, anyway?"

"I think it's somewhere between Platform 9 and Platform 10," Harry suggests.

"No duh," Dudley says, rolling his eyes.

"Well, let's just go over there then," Petunia says, trying to keep the peace.

So the family rambles over to between Platform 9 and Platform 10, where there is a hot dog vendor with "Platform 9.75" stenciled on his hot dog cart.

"What'll ya have?" he drawls as the family stops in front of him.

Dudley scans the menu. "A 'Hogwarts Express,' if you don't mind?"

The vendor looks back and forth suspiciously, and then leans forward and taps Dudley with his wand. Dudley feels a pull, as though he's being sucked through a tube (and not in a fun way), and then lands on a platform in another subway station. Two identical redheads walk up to him with huge grins on their faces.

"Hello," one of them says.

"What's your name?" the other one asks.

"Dudley," Dudley says disconcertedly.

"Well hello Dudley," one of the twins says. "Do you need a hand up?"

"That would be nice," Dudley admits.

The other twin extends his hand to help Dudley up, and he grasps it. Instantly, he feels a sharp shock shoot through his hand, and he falls backwards as the twins laugh.

"Pranked!" they chorus to each other, before hi-fiving and running off.

Dudley winces as he pushes himself to his feet. Seconds later, an old-fashioned steam locomotive pulls into the station.

"All aboard!" the conductor calls. "Next stops: London, Bristol, Liverpool, Newcastle, Manchester, Birmingham, and whatever other English cities we might stop at on our way to Hogwarts because the author was too lazy to check a map and plot an actual course!"


	7. There Is A Train Ride

Dudley finds an empty compartment and settles himself into one of the booths. Leaning his chin on his hands and his elbows on the table, he tries to sort out his thoughts, but finds it impossible due to not having any. Fortunately for this story, a small boy (but aren't they all small, seeing as they're all eleven years old?) stumbles into his apartment, hair in disarray and tangling around his face.

"Hi," the boy pants. "Have you seen a toad anywhere?"

Dudley looks around to ascertain that the boy is talking to him. "Is this some kind of a joke?"

"No," the boy says, straightening up. "I lost my toad, and need to find him."

Dudley frowns. "Is–you have a pet toad?"

"No!" the boy defends himself. "He's my familiar!"

Dudley continues to frown. "Isn't that just a wizarding word for pet?"

"No!" the boy denies. "Well, okay, maybe, but that's not the point! The point is, I miss Trevor very much and I need to find him before someone sits on him or we get to school!"

"...what if someone sits on him at school?" Dudley asks. "Shouldn't you have a terrarium for him?"

The boy looks confused. "What's a terrarium?"

Dudley sighs. "Nevermind. I haven't seen your toad."

The boy hustles off to another compartment, and Dudley briefly wonders what kind of a pet owner wouldn't have the proper equipment for housing their pet. Before he can ponder this question too much, though, a girl with bushy brown hair and buck teeth steps into the compartment with the air of someone who expects to be in charge.

"Hello," she says briskly. "Have you happened to see a toad around?"

"Did you lose yours too?" Dudley asks.

The girl wrinkles her nose, affronted. "Certainly not! Wait. Too?"

"There was someone else in here earlier, searching for his toad," Dudley explains.

The girl rolls her eyes. "Neville. I take he's already been here, then?"

"Yeah," Dudley agrees, and points behind him. "He went that way."

"Well, then I guess I'll check the front again," the girl says. "Nice meeting you."

She turns to go, and Dudley notices a trace of something brownish-green in her hair.

"Wait!" he calls to her.

The girl turns back to him, but he motions for her to turn around again. She does so, looking irritated, and Dudley takes a closer look at her hair. Now that he's noticed it, the discoloration is more apparent, and it seems to be a separate creature entirely that has burrowed into the girl's hair.

"You have a toad in your hair," he informs her.

She spins around, a frown on her lips. "That's not funny."

"I'm not joking," Dudley replies flatly.

She looks disturbed as she reaches into her tangles of hair, and then surprised when her hand makes contact with the toad. She gently coaxes it out and sits down across from Dudley with the toad clutched loosely in her hand.

"Thanks," she says awkwardly. "Um. My name's Hermione."

"Dudley," Dudley introduces himself.

They sit in awkward silence until Neville blunders back into the compartment.

"I couldn't find him anywhere," Neville gasps out, tears in his voice. "You don't think–somebody–"

Hermione wordlessly holds up the toad.

"Trevor!" Neville yelps, taking the toad from her and cradling it against his chest. "I thought I lost you!"

"Well, you didn't," Dudley informs him.

Neville looks up. "Sorry, I didn't get your name the first time around. I'm Neville, this is Trevor, the girl is Hermione–"

"She told me," Dudley interrupts.

"Ah, good, and you are?" Neville continues.

"Dudley," Dudley says. "Dudley Dursley."

Neville gave him a side-eyed look. "Not from a traditional wizarding family, then?"

"No," Dudley answers truthfully. "Just my aunt and uncle."

Neville nods and sticks out his hand. "Well it's very nice to meet you, Dudley Dursley."

Dudley shakes his hand. "You as well, Neville..."

"Longbottom," Neville supplies.

Dudley looks at him, astounded. "_Longbottom_?"

Neville reddens. "I didn't choose the name!"

Hermione rolls her eyes. "Boys."

"Yeah, well, your last name is Granger," Neville points out. "Nobody makes fun of your name!"

"Hermione Granger the hormone ranger," Hermione says in a monotone. "And that's just one example."

Before the author had a chance to think of what to do to continue the conversation, the door to the compartment opens and three boys stride in–or, more properly, a boy and two oversized bodyguards.

"Ah, Dudley," Draco proclaims pompously. "I see you've made some friends. Too bad none of them are respectable."

"Oh, like you're respectable?" Neville asks sarcastically.

Draco sniffs. "I'm a Pureblood through and through, thank you. As for your family, there's no telling what mutts they've soiled the family lineage with. Not to mention the family linens."

"What's a Pureblood?" Hermione asks.

"Something you'll never be, my dear," Draco says, brushing her off. "Now then, boys, did you bring the supplies?"

"What's a Pureblood?" Hermione reiterates.

Draco looks appalled. "My dear, are you truly that ignorant? It's a shame, it is, that they allow Mudbloods like yourself in among with the more cultured classes."

"Okay, first of all, you came into our compartment," Dudley points out. "Second of all, what's a Mudblood?"

Neville rolls his eyes. "You've got parents, right?"

"...yeah," Hermione and Dudley say.

"If one of your parents isn't a wizard, you're a mudblood," Neville explains. "If one of your grandparents isn't a wizard, mudblood. If anybody in your direct lineage that you know of isn't a wizard...mudblood. If everybody in your family line is a wizard, though, you're a pureblood."

"That sounds kind of incestuous," Hermione points out.

"It's not incestuous!" Draco defends himself. "There's no evidence of any incest of any kind occurring in good, wholesome Pureblood families."

One of his bodyguards farts, and they both break into idiotic laughs. Draco flushes.

"Yeah..." Dudley drawls. "No evidence at _all_."

"Shut it, Dudley," Draco says. "Remember your place."

"At Hogwarts?" Hermione guesses.

"Exactly," Draco agrees. "You ended up at the worst wizarding school in Europe."

"I thought it was the best wizarding school in Britain!" Hermione exclaims, astonished.

"It's the _only_ wizarding school in Britain," Neville says. "Didn't you know that?"

"No!" Hermione exclaims. "_Hogwarts: A History_ didn't say anything about that!"

Draco clicks his tongue. "Such a shame. Maybe, just maybe, if you work as hard as you can, you can someday transfer out to a competent wizarding academy." He smirks. "Then again, I doubt a filthy little Mudblood would be good enough to graduate from even Hogwarts."

"Hey," Dudley cuts in. "If Hogwarts is so horrible, why are you attending?"

Draco sags. "All the other schools I applied to rejected me."

Hermione smirks.

"Not. One. Word," Draco says angrily.

Hermione's smirk just grows larger. Suddenly, the door opens again, and a redhead flies into the room. He climbs to his feet swiftly, but the door slams shut. Outside, two people can be heard hi-fiving each other.

"You guys are dicks!" he calls at the door before turning around and noticing the other occupants. His face forms a glare. "Malfoy."

"Weasley," Draco says, glaring back at him.

"Malfoy?" Hermione asks.

He nods at her. "Granger."

"Crabbe?" one of Draco's bodyguards asks.

"Malfoy," Weasley spits.

"Weasley," Draco spits back.

"Malfoy?" Hermione asks.

"Granger," Draco acknowledges her.

"Goyle?" Draco's other bodyguard asks.

"Malfoy," Weasley snarls.

"Weasley," Draco says back angrily.

"Okay, enough of this!" Hermione cuts in. "We've all been introduced now, haven't we?"

"No," Neville says. "Dudley, this is Ron Weasley. Ron, this is Dudley Dursley."

"Neville?" Ron asks, confused. "What are you doing hanging out with Draco? And his bodyguards. And these other two people I've never met before."

"They found my toad," Neville explains. "Then Draco dropped by."

"Yes," Draco admits. "I hoped that they might provide some source of entertainment, but alas, it's merely Mudbloods. And Longbottom."

"Better a Mudblood than a cousinfucker," Dudley says.

"We do not fuck our cousins!" Draco and Ron proclaim at the same time.

"I mean, there have been rumors..." Neville acknowledges.

"Rumors? From whom? Who said that? I'll kill them!" Draco and Ron say in stereo.

Before the conversation can proceed, the train pulls to a screeching halt.

"We're here!" someone proclaims. "Welcome to Hogwarts!"


	8. Everyone Is Sorted Into Their Houses

Usually, when first years disembark from the train, they are taken on swan boats across the lake in order to get the full grandeur of Hogwarts for the first time. But since this isn't a visual work but a literary work and the author is completely incompetent and therefore unlikely to do the scene justice, we're going to skip all that in order to get directly to the next part of the plot: the sorting of the students!

The students are sorted by a hat. A Sorting hat. The Sorting Hat is named Seymour, although whether that's the actual name of the hat is tough to say. It's entirely possible, if not probable, that the Sorting Hat chose that name for a pun, and it's actual name is something less impressive. Like Steve. Or Larry. Or Svetlana. Or Rachel. Or Randall. Or one of myriad other names ranging from the forgettable to the lame.

Either way, Seymour is an interesting fellow and a great interview, although unfortunately he will not be interviewed in this story. Instead, he plans to come out, do a song (and possibly a dance) for the incoming students, and then sort them into their houses. All sortings are final, no refunds, no resorts, no takebacks, caveat emptor, yes it's foolish to expect that one person can fit directly into one of these houses rather than having elements of all houses, but too bad, they've gotta go somewhere.

Seymour is a bit annoyed that he can't resort everyone each year, though. That would allow for a more nuanced education and hopefully break down some of the house rivalries that have built up. After all, Gryffindors and Slytherins are more alike than either would care to admit.

Regardless, the newbies have arrived, the house lights have dimmed, I think it's time we blow this scene, get everybody and the stuff together. Okay. Three, two, one let's jam.

The spotlight shines down on Seymour as he launches into his song.

_I am the Sorting Hat  
I'm not a kitty cat  
I'm smart and strong  
And I sing my song  
What do you think of that?_

_The author is a fool  
He's got a tiny tool  
So very fat  
And smells like scat  
His lips they drip with drool_

_Headmasters always fail  
They should be thrown in jail  
Sweet Dumbledore  
Though he tries for sure  
Should be tossed in the garbage pail  
_

_Don't forget Pimona Sprout  
She smells like sauerkraut  
From pickling plants  
And killing ants  
She'll bore you, there's no doubt!  
_

_Snape's a git who smells like pork  
It's because of his Potions work  
He'll never feel a woman's touch  
Since he insists on going dutch  
But he'll give himself a jerk_

_McGongall's got big tits  
Such tits, they give me fits!  
I wish that she would grab me and pull me into her..._

_Ample funbags, ample funbags  
Ample funbags, ample funbags_

_ANYWAY!_

_Nobody knows the head of House  
For Ravenclaw, is it a mouse?  
Well nobody cares  
Since we're well aware  
They'll behave, and just ask how  
_

_Because Ravenclaw's for nerds  
Nerds who use big words  
Who do math and science  
And never do violence  
Unless pressed by jocks who are bored_

_Slytherin's for kids  
Who grew up on the skids  
Needing cunning and tricks  
And a few sharpened sticks  
You don't wanna know what they did_

_Gryffindor's is filled with those  
Who are brash and rash and cut off their nose  
They proclaim themselves heroes  
But their deaths are worth zero  
If they don't keep on their toes_

_And Hufflepuff's for...  
Actually, what the fuck's a hufflepuff?  
I mean, I know, Helga Hufflepuff...  
But seriously what the fuck is a Hufflepuff supposed to be?  
Slytherin being snakes makes sense, and Gryffindor, I mean, a griffin is a lion with eagle wings, so the whole lion thing makes sense  
And Ravenclaw, well, Raven's in the name  
But Hufflepuff? What is that, a wolf? Ima huff and puff and blow your house down?  
Pufnstuf House would make more sense, especially since that guy was nominally a dragon. I mean seriously, a badger? A BADGER?  
I know badgers are vicious and all, but a badger, well..._

_This song has gotten seriously off track  
And it won't be coming back  
But Minerva's gongs  
Can erect your dongs  
Tits are not something she lacks!  
_

Seymour takes a deep breath and observes the gathered masses. The new students mostly look confused, while Minerva McGonagall is trying to look upset but barely concealing her pride. Snape looks approximately as annoyed as he usually does, and Dumbledore is fully engrossed in his phone.

"Right, then!" Seymour declares. "It's time to find out where you all truly stand! Let's begin the sorting! Hannah "The Clergyman" Abbott, come on down!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde hair walks over to the hat and gingerly places it on her head.

Ah! the hat says, examining her thoughts. You're pretty boring and forgettable, aren't you? Now don't fret. Most people are, really. For all that it's stated that we are the main characters in our own lives, many aren't even that. If they were, celebrity gossip wouldn't be such a hot commodity. That's not the point, though. The point is that although you have elements of bravery and courage, what you really need...are friends. Because friendship is magic.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Hannah takes the hat off and heads for the Hufflepuff table with an annoyed look on her face.

"Next up, we've got Susan "Roll Them" Bones!" the hat says.

Wondering why your friend gave me that look? Well, it's because I saw that she's overly reliant on others but unwilling to open up. She's used to only having one or two friends, like you. Now I'm sure that you would do well with her, but she would cling to you while you would make friends anywhere. And, honestly, underneath your desire to be with your friend I notice many other things. Ambitions, not yet fully formed...

"SLYTHERIN!"

Several other students went under the hat, but they were ignored by the author, who didn't have a handy-dandy list to consult to find out who did what and went where, and instead just stuck to the outline laid out by Tendrael in their amazing and hugely entertaining fic _Harry Potter and the Scrambled Sorting_.

"Millicent Bul–"In A China Shop"–strode!"

My oh my, ambitious to a fault, no strong moral fiber, ready to do whatever it takes to get what you desire...that's Slytherin, alright. But I don't give you what you want...I give you what you need.

"GRYFFINDOR! Vincent "Softshell" Crabbe!"

Ah, so you want to help young Malfoy in Slytherin? Very well. We all need help sometimes, and I wouldn't be surprised to see him continue the family tradition–although then again, looks can be deceiving.

"SLYTHERIN! Tracey Davis "Beacon Teaches Typing"!"

Hmm. Ambitious and enthusiastic; you could go into Gryffindor and fit in very well. But underneath that, I notice a seed of cunning that if cultivated could make you a FORCE to be reckoned with.

"SLYTHERIN! Dudley "No" Dursley!"

No Dursley? Really?

You're the one writing this. I'm just the Sorting Hat.

At least I gave you a name.

That I did. Now where do you want to go?

Uh, shouldn't you be telling me that? You've been doing that for everyone else.

Yes, but it's complex. You see, while you're the one writing the story, technically Dudley is an individual of his own, even if you occasionally use him as your self-insert–as you're doing right now. Incidentally, how exactly are you going to handle that?

I figured that I'd just do whatever was funniest at the moment. So like, Dudley would do whatever unless I wanted to step in and say something.

That sounds confusing and stupid.

Welcome to this story.

Fine. Well, Dudley's kind of an overt bullying type, so he could fit in with Gryffindor. He also needs to learn how to read, so he would benefit from being in Ravenclaw. But then again, you yourself–as in, the author–are most inclined to be a Slytherin. A crappy Slytherin, but let's face it, you don't have friends, you're not courageous, but you are ambitious so...enh, tie between Slytherin and Ravenclaw. You _do_ read a lot.

Well, we haven't had any Ravenclaws yet, and that's the one we both kind of fit.

Very well.

"RAVENCLAW! Hermione "You Don't Own Me" Granger!"

Intelligent, outspoken, ambitious. Those three traits would put you in Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, and Slytherin quite easily. And you would be great in any of them. In Slytherin, you could cultivate your knowledge of the political world and make connections that would allow you immense future influence. In Gryffindor, you could find people just as outspoken as you and fight alongside them. And in Ravenclaw...well, that's the nerd house, and for perhaps the first time you'd be surrounded by people who were not just envious of your intelligence, but _impressed_ by it.

But I don't give those who fit under me what they want, but what they need, and what you need is to quite spending all your time nose-deep in books. Not that that's a bad thing, but it's had some, shall we say, negative repercussions on your life.

Girl, you need FRIENDS.

"HUFFLEPUFF! Daphne "Tomorrow The" Greengrass!"

Ah, a perfect aristocrat, raised from birth to be a Slytherin. I see your parents tried to cultivate an understanding of nobility, etiquette, politics, and diplomacy in you. Fortunately for them, you have all the qualities you need to succeed in Slytherin in spades, especially with how you favor the deft touch to, well, any other approach.

"SLYTHERIN! Greg "Gar" Goyle!"

Oh my god did Crabcakes come back for another round? No? Well you're both pretty fucking stupid. You'll need each other's help if you want to survive. That, or you'll just turn into a magical Beavis and Butthead. Either way it should be interesting.

"SLYTHERIN! Draco "Leather Pants" Malfoy!"

You want to go to Slytherin? My dear, that just won't do. No, with your brashness, your crudity, the way that you couldn't hold your tongue for a million galleons...no, no, no no no. You, my dear, are a true

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"WHAT?" Ron and Draco blurt at the same time. "THAT'S NOT TRUE! THAT'S IMPOSSIBLE!"

"Search your feelings, you know it to be true!" the hat declares.

"NOOOOO!" they both bellow. Seymour laughs, for unlike the author, it had actually seen Star Wars and was able to use the reference properly.

"Back on topic!" the hat declares. "Theo "Gordian" Nott!"

Hmm. Controlling father, absent mother...where have I seen this before? Oh right, every Disney Princess ever. Well, you belong in a tower, and with that setup you're obviously going to be a hero. Unless the author sets you up to be heroic and then pulls the whoops surprise he's actually a villain card, but what kind of a hack move would that be? Total hack move, that I'm sure the author would _never_ do. Especially since it only gets pulled off well when nobody's expecting the hero to be a villain, and they'll totally think you're a villain anyway since you were in Slytherin the first time around. Was I not supposed to reveal that? Yeah, I wasn't supposed to reveal that. Whatevs.

"GRYFFINDOR! Pansy "Central" Parkinson!"

...okay. Well. You're...yeah, you're like super creepy. What with the whole stalker thing, and being a stone-cold bitch...wow. WOW. I mean, I'd...I'd honestly sort you out of Hogwarts were it not for the fact that...okay I'm spending too much time on this bullshit for somebody as fucked up as you. Fuck it.

"REPLACED BY INCIDENTAL CHARACTER!"

"WHAT?" Pansy shrieks, before suddenly popping out of existence and being replaced by someone else entirely.

"Now what's your name?" Seymour asks.

"Lily Moon?" the girl says uncomfortably.

"Good enough!" the hat says. "Get under me!"

Lily's head darts back and forth as she searches for an escape route.

"Okay, uh, not like that," Seymour corrects itself. "That–wow, that was one of the worst ways to phrase things. Geez, I almost went full Hagrid there. I'm the Sorting Hat, which means I can sort you into whatever house in Hogwarts you fit into best."

Lily looks increasingly uncomfortable.

"Or, you know," Seymour says awkwardly. "We can just, uh, do this another time..."

Lily squeaks and burrows into the crowd of first-years.

"Right," Seymour says. "Well...Padma Pa–"Auntie Uncle Granny Grampy Sister Brother Fingers In The"–til, come on down!"

Hmm. Studious, hardworking, annoyed by how everyone wants to group you in with your sister...let's split you up then.

"RAVENCLAW! Parvati "Havarti Makes Me Farty" Patil!"

Cunning yet brash, ambitious but lacking subtlety at appropriate times. Both Gryffindor and Slytherin would help you grow; I'll flip a coin and what do you know,

"GRYFFINDOR! Zach "Back In Black" Smith!"

Good god, the ego on this boy! You need to be slapped down, and right pronto quick. The only question is...where? Yes, yes, I know, you think that Hufflepuff would be best for you, but nobody there would be willing to tell you what an utter prick you are. Gryffindor wouldn't help much given that they've also all got ginormous egos, Slytherin would just teach you to be more subtle about being a total prick, and Ravenclaw...

Well, you're not that smart, so they might teach you some humility. I'm not counting on it, but!

"RAVENCLAW! Steve "Smiling Assassin" Atwater!"

Jesus Christ you're amazing.

"PRO FOOTBALL HALL OF FAME! SteveAtwater!"

Jesus Christ you suck.

"Rejected for sucking! Ron "Red Head Redemption" Weasley!"

Huh. You're opinionated, hotheaded, and surprisingly courageous. It would be stupid to put you anywhere but

"GRYFFINDOR! Blaise "Zamboni Driver" Zabini!"

Now what's this? I see your mother is a serial killer–oh, don't think at me like that, you were thinking it too and we both know it's true. It seems that you know you can't rely on her, and that you've taken to not getting close to any of your stepfathers...not a bad decision, really, but rather heartbreaking all the same. You _really_ need some kind of support around you.

"HUFFLEPUFF! THANK YOU, GOODNIGHT!"


	9. There Is A Feast

"Thank you, Sorting Hat!" Dumbledore announces, finally looking up from his phone. "Now, it is usually time for the school song, but we don't have one of those. So instead, let's just play...whatever. Random song, go!"

A drummer begins playing in an indecipherable time signature. As the students' bafflement increases, the drums are joined by the sound of an out-of-tune guitar being strummed in a different time signature. That guitar is soon joined by another guitar, also out-of-tune, also in a separate time signature and possibly a different key.

THEN the SINGING starts.

_My pal's name is Foot Foot  
He always likes to roam..._

As the song stumbles its way to its merciful end, the students' faces gradually go through the five stages of what the fuck, going from astonishment to confusion to disbelief to horror to acceptance, although the author would like to note that if Luna Lovegood were here she would have _totally gotten it man_.

"Well!" Dumbledore says. "That was horrible! Now let's all eat dinner! Dinner tonight is an opportunity for every house to get to know its new members. It's also roast chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, and cranberry sauce. Enjoy!"

* * *

**RAVENCLAW HOUSE**

"So..." Zacharias says, moving over to sit next to Dudley. "What's your story?"

Dudley glances at him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, who are you and what are you doing here?" the boy asks.

"Who are _you_ and what are you doing here?" Dudley shoots back.

Zacharias looks affronted. "I am Zacharias Smith, of the famous Smith family! We're one of the original 28, you know. And we come from the same line as Helga Hufflepuff. Honestly, I should have been in Hufflepuff house, but the stupid hat thought it knew better than me _or_ Helga Hufflepuff! I've never been so insulted!"

"Uh-huh," Dudley says, quickly losing interest.

"Why, I'm thinking about petitioning the headmaster for a change! Not that I'm a Weasley or anything, heaven forbid the Smiths sink to their level, but..."

* * *

**SLYTHERIN HOUSE**

Greg Goyle and Vincent Crabbe stare at each other blankly.

"Hey, Greg?" Vincent asks.

"Yeah, Vince?" Greg asks.

"Shouldn't we be with Draco?" Vince asks.

"Yeah Greg but he's in Gryffindor," Greg says, confused.

"But Greg you're Greg," Vince says.

"Yeah," Greg agrees. "Where's Draco?"

"I think he's in Gryffindor," Vince says.

"How'd he get there?" Greg asks.

"The hat put him there?" Vince guesses.

"But he was supposed to be in Slytherin," Greg says.

"Wait," Vince says. "I thought we were supposed to be with Draco."

"Yeah," Greg agrees. "With Draco."

"Does that mean we're Gryffindors?" Vince asks.

Greg frowns. "I don't think so. The hat put me in Slytherin."

"Me too," Vince agrees. "How come Draco's not in Slytherin then?"

"Shouldn't Draco be with us?" Greg asks.

"Yeah," Vince says. "What's he doing with those Gryffindors?"

A few seats away, Gemma Farley groans and faceplants into her mashed potatoes. With those two in her house, Slytherin's average IQ had just dropped at least 20 points.

* * *

**HUFFLEPUFF HOUSE**

Hermione picks despondently at her chicken. Not that it's bad, no, not at all. It's just that–

What the hat said about her not having any friends was true. She had thought–had hoped–that maybe things would be different in the Wizarding World, that maybe she'd make friends because she liked studying so much, but apparently not. Instead, she was supposed to be in a house like Hufflepuff, where...

Well, it was just there. In all her perusals of _Hogwarts: A History_ she'd concluded that Gryffindor was for the heroic, Ravenclaw was for the intelligent, and Slytherin was for the evil. She'd been debating whether she'd want to go to Gryffindor or Ravenclaw and desperately hoping she didn't get sent to Slytherin, but Hufflepuff? She'd never even considered Hufflepuff. The book had treated it like it was a house for leftovers, barely giving it a mention.

Plus, apparently Hufflepuff was all about making friends, and she...wasn't. Good. At that.

"...hey," says the girl next to her. "What's wrong?"

Hermione looks over at her neighbor. "Um. Nothing. Why?"

The girl shrugs. "The hat said I was boring and needed to make some friends."

Her words pierce Hermione's heart. "The hat said the same thing to me."

A slight smile crosses the girl's face, and she holds out her hand to shake. "Hannah."

"Hermione," Hermione introduces herself, shaking her hand.

* * *

**GRYFFINDOR HOUSE**

"So..." one of the Weasley twins says, oozing up to Draco. "You're in our house, eh, Malfoy?"

"Yes," the other twin says, coming up to Draco's other side. "Poor little snake, crept into the lion's den."

"You two, back off of him," Ron says pompously. "It won't be for long, anyway."

"Oh really?" one of the twins asks. "Does little Ronniekins–"

"I wanted to call him Ronniekins!"

"Too late, I already did it so ha!"

"Well I get to choose what our next prank is so ha HA!"

"Ha ha HA!"

"HA HA HA HA!"

"HahahahahahahaHA!"

"HahahahahahahahahahaHEE!"

"Enough!" Ron interrupts. "I am going to do what I need to do to get this _snake_ out of our house."

"Hey, the Hat put me here," Draco shoots back. "I belong here as much as you do."

Ron turns up his nose. "You will _never_ belong here as much as me. And I'm going to shoo you out as soon as possible."

"And how–" one of the twins starts to say.

"–will you–" his counterpart continues.

"–do that?" the first twin finishes. Both of them grin at Ron wickedly.

"Our father will hear about this!" Ron declares.

Draco blanches. "You can't."

Ron grins. "I can."

"You can't!" Draco protests.

Ron continues to grin. "I can. Watch me."

"What's wrong with–" one of the twins interrupts.

"Our father, Malfoy?" the other one finishes.

Draco goes even paler. "If your father hears about this, _my_ father will hear about it. And if my father hears about it, he'll come here to _do_ something about it!"

The twins blink simultaneously before turning to Ron.

"Ron," they say gravely in unison. "You can't bring Lucius Malfoy to our school."

Ron looks back and forth between them. "Are you joking?"

The twins shake their heads.

"We've met him," one of them explains.

"He's crazy."

"Insane."

"Weird."

"Exuberant."

"Immensely embarrassing."

"And we're all for embarrassment–"

"–but Draco's father is–"

"–a step too far, Ron."

"Don't bring him here."

"Don't ruin the life of–"

"–this poor little snake."

Ron looks contemplative. "Well, if you two think that's too horrible a fate for a Malfoy..."

* * *

**TEACHER'S HOUSE**

Snape smiles appreciatively from the teachers' table as he surveys his house. Slytherin had taken the lion's share of the students that the author had cared or known enough about to mention, which in turn meant that they'd be getting discussed a lot. But more importantly, Harry Potter wasn't at Hogwarts! While there were probably plenty of reasons why this was, and few of them were likely good, he couldn't help but smirk knowing he wouldn't have to put up with James Potter's annoying-ass son.

Of course, the fact that his godson isn't in his house–his godson is a Gryffindor, for crying out loud! A Gryffindor! Still, with his father, that's not _that_ surprising. And perhaps Crabbe and Goyle will cause them to lose the House Cup. But still, things are looking good for Slytherin.

Minerva can't say the same about her house. As annoyed as Snape is that Draco ended up in Gryffindor, Minerva is twice that. After all, with Lucius being...Lucius, _plus_ the Malfoy name behind him, _plus_ the infamous Weasley-Malfoy feud...things are not shaping up well for Gryffindor this year. They'll be lucky if they just take third, even with Dumbledore's famous Gryffindor favoritism helping them out. And of course, the fact that Slytherin has taken the cup the last six years is only even more annoying. Worse, if her Gryffindors can't pull off a miracle, it'll be another year of Slytherin dominance. Unless the Ravenclaws sneak one in there, but that hasn't happened since they've had a steady hand at the tiller.

Case in point, their new head of house, Professor Squirrel. Also, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Who, as she watches him, idly scratches his neck constantly. Despite Dumbledore's affirmations that Professor Squirrel is well-qualified to teach the subject, she can't help but wonder if they can really deal with the problems he's sure to cause. Even if Snape has promised to keep an eye on him and help out.

Sprout, meanwhile, didn't even come to dinner so that she could garden instead of "putting up with these snotstained shits for a boring-ass introductory dinner" as she put it. And Dumbledore is...well, she's not sure what he's doing, but he's been staring at his phone all dinner.

Dumbledore lets out a sigh as he gazes at Grindr. For some reason, tonight absolutely nobody wants to sleep with an incredibly sexy and powerful wizard with a fully stocked library of magical sex toys. Sometimes, he wonders if it's his age that's keeping him from getting laid as often as he used to, or whether it's his inability to remember whether you want to swipe left or swipe right and him deciding to split the difference by swiping up.

Either way, it looks like another long night alone for everyone's favorite wizard headmaster. And it's such a shame, too. Dumbledore always likes to start off the school year with a bang.

* * *

**ANIMAL HOUSE**

Hagrid is playing ethnicky jazz to parade his snazz from his five-grand stereo, and that is where we will close the book on moving-in day at Hogwarts.


	10. Ron And Draco Are At Loggerheads

It starts when Draco wakes up at the same time as Ron.

"Are you kidding me?" they both howl at the same time.

The reason for this howl is quite simple: they both wet the bed. This is because somebody has placed their right hands in bowls of lukewarm water.

Ron and Draco throw back their curtains and glare at each other.

"Weasley," Draco snarls, just as Ron snarls "Malfoy."

They glare at each other some more before getting up, getting dressed, and marching off to breakfast side-by-side and glaring all the way.

"...wow," Theodore Nott says after they leave.

"What?" Neville asks sleepily.

"They're like twins," Theo says. "Or doppelgängers."

Neville blinks a few times and then rolls over. "I'm going back to sleep."

* * *

Draco and Ron storm into the Great Hall at the same time and walk determinedly over to the Gryffindor table.

"What is the meaning of this?" they ask angrily, in sync with each other.

The twins blink at them.

"Why, whatever do you mean?" one of them asks innocently.

"You know exactly what I mean!" they both yell. "Hey! Stop doing that!"

"Doing what?" the other twin asks.

"Stop saying what I'm going to say! No! Stop it! You–URGH!"

And with that, Ron and Draco set to punching each other. The twins look at each other, get up, and leave, with one of them grabbing a few pancakes for the road.

"That–" the first one says as soon as they're out of the Great Hall.

"–was weird," the other concludes.

"Speaking the same sentence–"

"–at the same time–"

"–in the same tone of voice–"

"–without any disconnection–"

"–honestly, how come we can't–"

"–do that?"

* * *

The tension continues to summer throughout breakfast.

"Honestly, Weasley," Draco drawls after Ron attempts to fit six sausages in his mouth at once, "would it kill you to possess some table manners?"

Ron scowls and tries to speak, but only ends up spraying Draco with bits of chewed-up sausage. Sadly, that was a better retort than what he planned to say.

"Jesus God I share a room with you," Draco says flatly. "Tell me you at least don't wear diapers?"

"Why, do you need them?" Ron asks. "You big baby!"

(Sadly, that was also the best retort Ron had.)

"I'm not the one who's never heard of silverware!" Draco shoots back. "Or is that because you're family's too poor?"

"My family's not poor, Malfoy!" Ron says angrily.

"Your family's super poor!" Draco exclaims. "They're so poor, they have more kids than Galleons!"

"Yeah?" Ron asks. "Well your mother's so fat, she can't fit in your house!"

Draco glares. "Your mother's so poor, she washes paper plates!"

"Yo mama's so fat, she eats with a forklift!"

"Yo mama's so poor, her face is on food stamps!"

"Yo mama so fat, she comes at you from ALL directions!"

"Yo mama so poor, your front and back door are the same thing!"

"Yo mama so fat, she uses mayonnaise as moisturizer!"

"Yo mama so poor, burglars break in and _leave_ money!"

"Yo mama so fat, her belly button _echos_!"

"Yo mama so poor, she can't even afford to pay attention!"

Yo author so crappy, he decided to write a scene of yo mama jokes.

"Yo mama so fat, she got a paper cut and _gravy_ came out!"

"Yo mama so poor, she runs after the garbage truck with her shopping list!"

"Yo mama so fat, she's on _both_ sides of your family!"

"Yo mama so poor, your wand's a _hand-me-down!_"

All the color leaves Ron's face as it deepens into a glare far deeper than has ever been seen before by Draco.

"_Really_, Malfoy?" he grits out. "_Really?_ You wanna play it _this_ way?" He stares deeply into Draco's eyes. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

Ron takes a deep breath and then climbs onto the table.

"Everybody!" he says loudly. "Everybody, listen up! I have something very, _very_ important to say!"

The Great Hall quiets down as everyone who wasn't already paying attention to the spat looks at the Gryffindor table.

"It has recently come to my attention, that Draco's mother..." Ron pauses for a few seconds. "Yes, Draco's mother, the much esteemed Narcissa Black Malfoy, is _soooo_ fat...yes indeed, she is _soooo_ fat...so _incredibly_ fat..._obese_..._gargantuan_..._tremendously overweight,_ that as a young girl, when she came to Hogwarts to be sorted, the Sorting Hat merely had to sit on her head for the _smallest_ fraction of an instant...before declaring her a perfect fit...for the INTERNATIONAL HOUSE OF PANCAKES!"

The Great Hall stands completely silent as everyone takes in what Ronald Weasley has chosen to declare. It then lies silent for a few seconds longer as everyone realizes what such an insult will result in.

"RONALD! WEASLEY!" Minerva McGonagall bellows.

Ron's eyes alight on her, and all the fight goes out from him as he sinks to a sitting position on this table.

"NEVER before has a student been so crass in my presence!" McGonagall yells angrily. "Not once, in my entire life, did I think that I would come across a student making such _foul, disgusting_ accusations! And yet, here you are, on the first day of school, before class has even begun, bullying another student by claiming his mother would deign to visit the International House of Pancakes!"

Ron's mouth drops open and he gasps like a fish.

"The nerve!" McGonagall continues. "To make such a horrible accusation! At one of your own housemates, no less! I had hoped you would take after Percy more than Fred or George, but it seems that you're worse than either of them. I cannot believe this! I may not be able to make you apologize sincerely, but I _can_ assign you a month of detentions, and I can also deduct ONE HUNDRED POINTS FROM GRYFFINDOR!"

Ron gapes. "But–but–but that's your house!"

"It is your house too, Ronald," McGonagall says coldly. "And it would behoove you to learn that actions have consequences, not just for yourself, but for others as well."

"But he started it!" Ron protests. "He was saying things about my mother as well!"

"I know," McGonagall says. "And had I known that you would make such a horrible statement–"

"He said my wand was a hand-me-down!" Ron protests.

McGonagall gives him an unimpressed look. "Your wand _is_ a hand-me-down. Regardless, there is almost nothing Mister Malfoy could say that would _ever_ justify suggesting that _any_ relation of his, no matter how distant, would _ever_ visit an IHoP."

She turns and goes back to the teachers table. Ron retakes his seat, still stunned at what just occurred.

"You know I'll get you for this," he says in a still-shocked voice.

Draco shakes his head. "You went too far, Weasley. Too. Far."


	11. Snape's First Class

The first-years shuffle into class in clumps, bunches, and small groups. Occasionally one slips into the classroom alone, but those are few and far between. No, the first-years move like timid deer, always in bunches and all-too-unsure of themselves. For many, this is their first formal schooling in magic. Which is a shame. Snape suspects that they would be much better prepared if they studied magic prior to turning eleven, when mages properly begins to flower; if not actual usage, than theory and work that doesn't actually need magic to succeed. Like potions; anyone (even squibs) can brew potions if they do it correctly.

The clock hits nine, and Snape grins. Showtime.

With a few quick flicks of his wand, the door to the classroom slams shut, the door locks, and he disillusions himself. The first-years all gasp as they see their professor appear, seemingly out of nowhere.

Snape stares grimly at his new students, although internally he's almost chuckling. His visage is not pleasant to look upon–he will not delude himself about that–but through years of teaching, performance classes, and deep-rooted self-loathing, he's figured out how make himself immensely imposing, despite–and sometimes because of–his ratty hair, immense nose, and insomnia-sunken eyes. And, if he does say so himself, he's seen how some of his students look at him. They fear him. They _respect_ him.

Of all the lessons Snape learned at school, one of the most important is what it takes to be respected. And it wasn't even one taught in a classroom–but then again, the most important things are _rarely_ learned in classrooms.

"Welcome," Snape says softly, "to Potions." He begins pacing in front of the class–a calculated, catlike, almost casual tread, back and forth in front of his students, somewhat hypnotizing them as he draws them in. "Many of you may not believe that Potions is important. Some of you may not believe that Potions is magic at all. Some of you may think that you can ignore this class, just as you ignore Binns's History class. Oh yes, I was a student here too, you know."

Snape grabs some wormwood off of his desk and tosses it gently into a waiting cauldron. The cauldron shakes, bubbles, and then melts into a steaming heap of metal.

"I saw that happen once, as a student," he says, almost offhandedly. "Only, it wasn't to a cauldron. No, a student–Aubrey Weston, I believe her name was–she somehow did so poorly at making the Mustafa potion that when she added the braised tadpoles, the cauldron rejected it–threw the entire mixture right into her face."

He turns to look directly at his class and tilts his head. "Melted her entire head, poor girl. She was dead within minutes, but the corpse...yes, I still remember it, lying on the ground in front of me. I had to step over it as we evacuated the classroom that day. I believe some of her skull got on my shoes."

Snape resumes pacing. "I suppose you're all wondering what the point of that story was. After all, Mr. Snape, Ms. Weston must have been an extraordinarily careless girl. She must have been incredibly stupid–very moronic, if her own cauldron would reject her mixture. Surely none of us could ever prepare a potion so poorly. We're _far_ too young and clever."

Snape stops again, stares down his class, and lowers his voice to give his words extra emphasis. "Listen to me, you uninformed brats. Potions can allow you to sleep better, cure your illnesses, make you more handsome, more charismatic, a stronger fighter, a better lover. Potions can inflict death, or they can stop it. Potions can do many, many, _many_ things, and if you are truly interested–if you are truly inclined–I will be willing to teach you all that I can. But potions. Are. Not. Toys."

"Potions are not a joke," he intones. "Potions can be dangerous. Potions can be _deadly_. And that means that if I give you instructions, _you will follow them_. If I tell you to cease brewing immediately, _you will do so_. If you have any questions, _you will ask them_, and you will do so _before_ you attempt to start working on your potions!"

Snape exhales and begins pacing again. "You may wonder why I am so insistent on this. Why I am so determined that none of you share Ms. Weston's fate." He cracks his knuckles. "Under my predecessor, Professor Slughorn, there were 22 fatalities over the course of his 51 years of teaching. Since I took over, there have been none. I have not seen one student die in my class due to carelessness, mishandling of materials, sabotage, or pure ignorance, and I do not plan to see that number increase! If I see _any_ of you do _anything_ to endanger other students or yourselves, corrective action will be _swift_ and _exhausting_. Believe me when I say that potions are not a joke, and I will do anything and everything in my power to drill that lesson into your skulls. Do we understand each other?"

He spins around and stares at his class. They stare back at him, cowed.

"I _said_," Snape repeats, with intentional sarcastic emphasis, "Do we understand each other?"

Murmurs of "yes" and "yes, sir" emit from his first-year students. Snape turns his back on them both to hide his smile and to write on the board. He could just use magic, of course, but writing on the board suggests that he trusts them _not_ to screw up immediately after he warned them against it–and, furthermore, it drives home his point that wand-waving will not be part of the road to success in his class.

"Now then," he continues, still writing on the board, "these are the instructions for brewing a boil cure potion. It consists of only four ingredients, and no matter how thoroughly you ignore these instructions, they should _not_ explode in your faces when mixed together. Of course, I have every confidence that someday someone in my first-year classes will find a way to do that, but as it stands, I believe that this is a good way to introduce you all to the..._intricacies_...present in even the most elementary potion. Now..." he finishes writing and turns around. "You may begin."


	12. Sprout's First Class

"Alright, assholes," Pomona snaps at her students. "Shut up and follow me to the greenhouse."

One of them sticks her hand in the air. "Ms. Sprout? I have a question."

"I have an answer," Pomona says. "Go fuck yourself! Fuck your questions, fuck your answers, and fuck you! You know why I'm here?"

"To teach us?" the girl guesses.

"That's a rhetorical question, you dumb bitch," Pomona says. "Worse, you got it wrong. What are you, Hufflepuff?"

"Yes?" the girl guesses.

"You asking me or telling me, honey?" Pomona asks.

"...telling?" the girl guesses.

Pomona snarls. "Jesus Christ, how'd someone as dumb as you get in my fucking house? You're goddamn lucky I stay the fuck away from that hellhole most of the time. No, honey, you're asking if you're a Hufflepuff. You're a fucking Hufflepuff, dumbass! Own it!"

The girl looks like she's about to break down in tears. Pomona turns her back on her students and continues leading them towards the gardens.

"No, shitstains," she continues, "I'm only here because it's a way I can garden the entire year without being constantly bothered by stupid bullshit. Unfortunately, you fuckers _are_ the stupid bullshit. Fortunately, I can use your bodies to plow and till and weed and seed and all kinds of crap that would be so much easier with a tractor."

The students are silent as she leads them to the greenhouse, but when she turns around the girl's hand is in the air again.

"Oh, for fuck's..." she mutters. "The fuck you want _now_?"

"I was just wondering," the girl says meekly. "Why don't you just start your own farm? Or something."

"What part of I don't want to deal with stupid bullshit all the fucking time did you not get, nimrod?" Sprout shoots back. "Dealing with farm bullshit means you have to sell shit, and buy shit, and do shit, and FUCK. THAT. SHIT. Fucking Christ. What's your name, anyway?"

"My name's Hermi–"

"YOUR NAME IS DUMBASS, DUMBASS! And if you don't want to find my foot lodged seven feet deep in your colon, you're going put your hand down, shut the fuck up, and DO WHAT YOU'RE FUCKING TOLD, YOU IDIOTIC CHILD! NOW!" Sprout takes a deep breath. "Today, we're going to be weeding, and I'm going to teach you the difference between a weed that you ought to pull out of the ground, and a magical plant that will probably kill you if you act like a dumbass near it. So all of you will probably die today." She throws open the door to the greenhouse. "Let's get to work!"


	13. Squirrel's First Class

Professor Squirrel stumbles into class fourteen minutes late, which is one minute before class would have been officially cancelled, but luckily for him, his class consists of fifth-year Ravenclaws and Gryffindors, which means that it currently consists entirely of Ravenclaws, since the Gryffindors have already absconded to do more interesting things elsewhere while the Ravenclaws stayed in the vain hope of learning something and the author wrote a run-on sentence that was quickly becoming more and more unwieldy by the word but which still wasn't stopping as the author had the vain hope that if the sentence just kept going it would eventually transform from a piece of brutal ugliness into a beautiful work of majesty, but this was not to be, as the author had run out of things to describe long ago and was now just reveling in the self-absorbed crappiness of the opening sentence of the chapter (insert your masturbation jokes here, because God knows I won't come up with any good ones).

Regardless of the poor writing choices, Professor Squirrel stumbles into class and spends the first seven minutes idly scratching at his neck and staring at nothing at all. It's at this point that one of the Ravenclaws decides to try to interrupt him.

"Uh, Professor?" a girl who will from this point on be referred to as Slagathor says.

Squirrel snaps to attention. "Yes, um. Person girl face?"

"My name's Debby, actually," Slagathor says uncomfortably. "But aren't you going to take roll?"

"Roll?" Professor Squirrel asks, still absentmindedly scratching his neck. "Girl, I'm gluten-free! Free as a bird, a bird who doesn't eat gluten! It's bad for you!"

"No, I mean..." Slagathor says uncomfortably. "I mean, shouldn't you figure out who's in the class?"

"Well there's you," Squirrel says. "And you, and you, and you, and you, and you, and you, and you, and you..."

Professor Squirrel continues to point to everyone in the class, often repeating his count, until finally he finishes with about five minutes left before the bell is scheduled to ring.

"I think that's everyone," he says. "Are there any questions?"

"Are you going to teach us Defense Against the Dark Arts?" an annoyed Ravenclaw whom I will not name because he's an anonymous character and you won't know it if he shows up again, which he might if I need a random male fifth-year Ravenclaw to stand in the background and maybe say one or two lines asks.

"Yes," Squirrel says. Another Ravenclaw raises her hand, but he ignores her.

"Yeah, uh, why do you keep scratching your neck?" a boy who didn't raise his hand asks.

"Raise your hand if you want me to call on you!" Squirrel snaps.

The boy raises his hand. Professor Squirrel ignores him. A few minutes later, the bell rings.

"Class dismissed!" Professor Squirrel says happily, running out of the room.

* * *

Professor Squirrel is not present for any of the other classes he's supposed to teach that day.


	14. Ron And Draco Are Still At Loggerheads

Ron glares at Draco as Draco tucks into lunch.

"Little prick," he whispers under his breath. "Shouldn't even be here. One of Slytherin's scummy spawn."

Draco looks up at him. "If you hate me so much, why are you sitting down right across from me?"

"I don't want to sit across from you!" Ron complains. "My brothers made me do it!"

"Now that's an exaggeration," one of them says innocently.

"Yes," the other one agrees. "We no more made you sit across from Draco–"

"–than we froze you in a sitting position–"

"–levitated you to the table–"

"–sprayed glue onto the bench–"

"–and dropped you on it."

"That's _exactly_ what you did," Ron says through gritted teeth.

The twins grin and hi-five each other. "Pranked!"

Draco and Ron glare at them and ask the same question at the same time. "Why?"

"Because you two–"

"–hate each other–"

"–so naturally–"

"–we wanted you–"

"–to talk through–"

"–your mutual loathing."

"No you didn't," Draco and Ron declare.

"Are you insinuating–"

"–that we would–"

"–do this for our own–"

"–amusement? I'm shocked!"

"Astounded!"

"Flabbergasted!"

"Befuddled!"

"Amazed!"

"Dismayed!"

"Confounded!"

"Aroused!"

"Wounded!"

"Agonized!"

"Ho–"

"SHUT UP!" Draco and Ron yell. "Just get him away from me!"

"Why we can't–"

"–do that."

"From the way–"

"–the two of you–"

"–are constantly saying the same thing–"

"–at the same time–"

"–in the same tone of voice–"

"–it's quite obvious that you're–"

"–soulmates," the twins declare simultaneously.

Draco and Ron, who have both been drinking pumpkin juice, spew it out over each other's faces. "WHAT? EW! YOU DICKBAG! YOU DID THAT ON PURPOSE! I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!"

"Soulmates," the twins sigh mockingly.

Draco and Ron turn their murderous glares on them. "YOU'RE NEXT!"

Smugly, the twins turn and walk away. Draco and Ron glare at each other and then try to get up, only to fail miserably.

"They put glue on your seat too?" Ron asks, annoyed.

Draco scowls. "Apparently."

* * *

The duo are still seated across from each other when dinner happens, but by then they've resorted to simply glaring at each other. Neville and Theo come around at that time and sit down next to them.

"So," Theo says. "Didn't see either of you in Charms."

"Yeah," Neville agrees. "I didn't think the two of you would become friends so quickly."

"We are _NOT_ friends!" Draco and Ron yell.

Theo smirks at Neville. "Told you. Twoppelgängers."

"Twoppelgängers?" Draco and Ron ask.

"He thinks you two are twins," Neville explains. "Or doppelgängers."

"Please!" the two of them say sarcastically. "As if my father/mother would dare sully our lineage with a _Weasley_/_Malfoy_!"

They glare at each other at the end of the sentence.

Neville raises an eyebrow at Theo. "Maybe they _are_ twoppelgängers."

"Told you," Theo says, smirking.

"But why didn't you come to class with us?" Neville asks, turning the conversation back on topic.

"We're glued to these benches," Draco and Ron say.

"Well sucks to be you then," Neville says happily.

"Fuck you Neville," they both say.

Neville frowns. "Just for that, I'm not going to help you get loose."

"Fine!" they both say angrily. "I didn't want your help anyway! AND STOP SAYING EVERYTHING I'M SAYING!"

* * *

Draco and Ron get found at 10:35 that night by the caretaker, Mr. Filch, who lets his cat use them as a scratching post before he cuts their robes loose and lets them head up to bed.


	15. A Faculty Meeting

"Hello, fellow professors!" Dumbledore says, sweeping into the faculty lounge. "How goes your first day of classes?"

"Kids. Fucking. Suck," Pimona Sprout declares.

"Loathe as I am to ever agree with my _esteemed_ colleague, I have to agree," McGonagall says.

"Indeed," Professor Flitwick says. "And I hate to bring someone's deficiencies to light, but I was informed by my third-year Slytherins and Hufflepuffs that Professor Squirrel never showed up to teach his classes."

Dumbledore casts his gaze on Professor Squirrel. "Is this true?"

"You mean I have to teach more than one class?" Professor Squirrel asks, scratching his neck.

Snape narrows his eyes. "We all do."

"Oh," Professor Squirrel says. "I thought I just had to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"...yes," Snape says darkly. "To _everyone_."

"I did teach everyone!" Professor Squirrel says. "Then I left."

McGonagall shuts her eyes tightly. "Professor, are you telling me you taught _one_ class–"

"Yeah!" Squirrel agrees. "I taught the one class I'm supposed to teach! One class, like all of us."

Snape rubs his forehead. "It's one _subject_ you teach. You teach _multiple classes_ on the _singular subject_ of Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Oh," Professor Squirrel says. "_Oh._"

"Okay then!" Dumbledore says cheerily. "It looks like Defense Against the Dark Arts classes were a bust. However–"

"Can't we just call them DADA classes like we used to?" Flitwick implores. "It's so much simpler–"

"YOU DARE TO INSULT MY ART BY CALLING IT SIMPLE?" a man roars. "MY ART IS COMPLEX! INTERESTING! ANGRY! AND SICK OF THE ILLNESS THAT INFESTS MODERN BOURGEOIS CAPITALIST SOCIETY! I SPIT ON YOU! AND YOUR DEMANDS FOR SIMPLICITY! PTOOEY!"

Every professor besides Dumbledore stares at him, shocked.

"...who the HELL is that?" Seymour asks.

Dumbledore smiled. "Oh, that's–"

"MAN RAY, BITCH!" MAN RAY BITCH declares.

"Indeed," Dumbledore agrees. "Man Ray is our new arts professor."

"Since when do we have an arts program?" Snape asks, aghast.

Since the author decided it would be funny.

"Honestly, Headmaster, I must object," McGonagall cuts in. "Our students are quite preoccupied with learning the ins and outs of magic, without trying to take on the difficulties of a modern Muggle curriculum."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkle. By the way, does that creep anyone else out? Eyes should not be twinkling. It's just freaky, that is. But regardless, he seems to think it's endearing. Or possibly he's trying to creep everyone out. Either way, he makes his eyes twinkle as he says "This is not a full-scale curriculum overhaul, Minerva, merely the addition of an art class."

"It's a slippery slope," Madame Hooch hedges. "If you add art, what's next? Literature? Mathematics? Gym?"

"Oh, that reminds me," Dumbledore says. "Because I want to add a music class but don't have the budget for that _and_...what's your job again, anyway?"

"Flying," Hooch explains. "I think. It's not really clear what else I teach."

Dumbledore waves her off. "Right, that. Well, anybody can teach that, and you're pretty much an ancillary character anyway, so you're fired."

"WHAT?" Hooch asks, aghast.

"Good point," Dumbledore says. "You're now the substitute teacher for the school."

Madame Hooch gapes.

"...if it were anybody else, that would be a foolish, shortsighted move," Snape says bitterly. "Since you're _you_, it's one of the best moves you'll make all year."

"Thank you for that barely hidden insult, Severus," Dumbledore says smugly. "Now are there any other issues?"

"YES!" MAN RAY BITCH bellows. "HOW CAN I EXPECT TO TEACH STUDENTS ART, WHEN ART IS FEELING AND MOTION AND EMOTION AND LIFE LIFE LIFE LIFE LIFE? YOU CANNOT TEACH LIFE! YOU CAN MERELY–"

"Man Ray," Dumbledore cuts in. "You can either continue to teach a barely-attended elective that only holds two classes a week and educates all students at once, leaving you plenty of time to pursue your art and providing you with a steady paycheck, or you can storm off in a huff and take a day job as a telemarketer where you'll not only be paid less but have very little free time with which to pursue your artwork."

"...your point makes sense," MAN RAY BITCH admits. "Not that I'm happy about it."

"Dumbledore, I must object!" Madame Hooch objects. "If, as you say, Art is going to be poorly attended, wouldn't it make sense to keep Flying as a subject instead?"

"A capital idea!" Dumbledore agrees. "We shall make Flying another subject, and as the best qualified among us, I believe Madame Hooch should teach it in addition to her various substituting duties. Are there any objections?"

Everyone gapes at him.

"Fantastic!" Dumbledore says. "Welcome to the teaching squad, Madame."

McGonagall groans. "Dumbledore, did you do that just so you could get a permanent subsitute teacher who couldn't even complain because now you can claim she gave you the idea?"

"Indeed I did!" Dumbledore says, eyes twinkling madly. "For I am an amazing manipulator of others!"

MAN RAY BITCH groans. "Is there any other way you wish to torture us before I drink myself into oblivion?"

"No, I believe that should just about wrap things up," Dumbledore says. "So long as nobody has any objections?"

The door explodes open.

"DAMMIT HAGRID!" Filch barks. "I CONSTANTLY HAVE TO REPAIR DOORS AROUND HERE BECAUSE YOU CAN'T BE BOTHERED TO OPEN THEM NORMALLY!"

"Sorry!" Hagrid says cheerfully. "I just heard there was a faculty meeting, and you know I hate to miss those!"

"Don't worry, Hagrid," Snape says, massaging his forehead. "We didn't actually cover anything of note."

"Oh," Hagrid says mournfully. "So I take it nobody wants to know how my watermelon moonshine turned out?"

"Will it kill us?" MAN RAY BITCH asks.

"Of course it won't, you dumbfuck!" Sprout snaps at him. "I helped grow those fucking watermelons. Are you insulting my gardening skills?"

"It will not only not kill you, it'll make you feel right as rain!" Hagrid says cheerfully. "I learned my lesson from that mishap with the lead piping."

"Yes, see that it doesn't happen again," Dumbledore says. "I take it none of you gave out pop quizzes you have to grade, so let's all have a taste test of Hagrid's shine!"

Everybody leaves to get sloshed except for Mr. Filch, who stays behind, grumpily staring at the broken door.

"Oy, Filch, I'm sorry," Hagrid admits. "I'm a bit, uh–"

"I know what you are," Filch says, as kindly as he can.

"So, wanna have a–"

"I can't," Filch interrupts. "I have to work nights."

Hagrid nods. "Right, right. So, how about I, uh, maybe, I could, creep down into the castle late at night, leave a present on your doorstep for when you finish?"

Filch glares at him. "_No._ I do _not_ want to clean turds up when I'm done cleaning up the school."

"That wasn't me!" Hagrid defends himself. "I swear it! It musta been a prank! By someone else!"

"Very well," Filch says bitterly. "I'll take your word for it. _This_ time."


	16. We Check In On Some Other Houses

**SLYTHERIN HOUSE**

"Okay," Daphne says. "Do we understand the plan?"

Vince and Greg glance at each other.

"Is she talking to us?" Greg asks.

"I think she is, Vince," Vince says.

"But I thought you were Vince," Greg points out.

"Am I? I thought I was Greg," Vince says.

"But I'm Greg, Greg," Greg says.

"Maybe we're both Greg?" Vince suggests.

"No!" Daphne cuts in. "You're Vince, and he's Greg!"

"So who are you?" Vince asks.

"Daphne," Daphne says frostily. "Daphne Greengrass."

"Oh," Vince says. "I think we've met."

"Hi," Greg says. "I'm Greg."

Daphne scowls. "I know."

"And I'm Vince," Vince says.

"Greg," Greg says, holding his hand out for Vince to shake.

Vince frowns. "I thought you said I wasn't Greg."

"I thought I was Greg," Greg says.

"Are you?" Vince asks.

"Am I?" Greg asks.

"You are!" Daphne interrupts. "Now listen, I need your help!"

Vince blinks slowly. "You need our help?"

Daphne grinds her teeth. "Yes."

"Greg, can we help her?" Vince asks.

"Only if Draco lets us," Greg says.

"Oh yeah," Vince says. "We're supposed to do what Draco wants. Where's Draco?"

"I dunno," Greg says. "He didn't stay in our bedroom."

"Do you think he got his own bedroom?"

"Maybe he did and it's super fancy."

"No wonder we're supposed to listen to him."

"What do you think he wants us to do?"

"Listen to him, I think."

"Enough of that!" Daphne snaps. "Let's go."

"We can't," Greg says.

"Why not?" Vince asks.

"We're waiting for Draco."

"Oh yeah. Do you think he'll be here soon?"

"Tomorrow?"

"What happens tomorrow?"

"I think it's Tuesday."

"So tacos?"

"I prefer burritos."

"Are burritos sandwiches?"

"Are sandwiches burritos?"

"Sandwiches don't come with guacamole."

"Guacamole gives me farts."

"Me too!"

Internally, Daphne weeps.

* * *

**HUFFLEPUFF HOUSE**

"...and the edict declaring that goblins were no longer allowed to perform stand-up comedy at open mic night was the last straw, if you'll pardon the expression, because that on top of all the wizard hegemony that had built up in the ten years since the treaty of Bucksternag led the goblins to declare war on the wizards again."

Blaise and Hannah look at each other, impressed.

"How'd you get _that_ from Binns's lecture?" Blaise asks. "My mom said he was the most boring teacher of all even when she was back in school, and nobody ever manages to pass his tests."

Hermione blushes. "I read a lot. And, well, I like to read about history, and some of the stories seemed like they might be interesting if they weren't in our textbook, so I looked into them...y'know?"

Hannah smiles. "I'm glad you did. We might actually pass history!"

* * *

**RAVENCLAW HOUSE**

"Hail and well met, fair Dudley!" Zach says, sitting down in the common room across from Dudley.

Dudley stares at him. "Why are you talking like that?"

"I'm trying to set myself apart from my compatriots of a regrettably lower social status than mine," Zach explains. "It seems that such an extensive vocabulary along with the wherewithal to use it in casual conversation should easily show my upper-class status and make me stand out as a character to emulate in all facets. Wouldn't you agree, Dudley?"

Dudley blinks a couple times. "No."

"Oh," Zach says, before rallying. "Well, what would you know? You're supposedly the author's self-insert despite being a character originally in the story, yet you haven't done a single thing since the sorting. Shouldn't you have a larger role?"

Dudley blinks a couple times. "Yes."

In a corner, Nymphadora–

"Hey, you don't have permission to call me that!"

Really? I'm like 90% sure I misspelled it anyway.

"That's not the issue. The issue is that if you're gonna talk to me, you have to call me Tonks."

I wasn't going to talk to you. In fact, you're the one talking with me.

"So? You're the one dragging me in at this point. I'm pretty sure I didn't actually show up in canon until well after I graduated from Hogwarts, although I could be wrong."

Shouldn't you know that?

"No, I'm a character within the story, so I don't know my future."

Well I've never read the books so I'm just guessing about your future.

"How about we stop this conversation and you just agree to call me Tonks."

Can I call you Tonx instead?

"That sounds like an overpriced nail salon. No."

Fine.

In a corner, Tonks shook her head and smiled to herself. Firsties really didn't know how long this series was, and how they might all get moments to shine.

"Assuming you finish this story in the first place. You're writing it with no clear plan."

Hey, I thought you were done talking to me!

"Now I am."

...

I literally have nothing to write in response to that, so instead let us move on to the last of our illustrious four houses.

* * *

**ANIMAL HOUSE**

"WOOOOOO!" Dumbledore hollers, running around Hagrid's watermelon patch stark naked. "STREAKING! WOO!"

"Why does he do that every time he gets drunk?" Snape groans to himself as he watches from Hagrid's kitchen windows.

"He feels the need to get the breeze between his knees," McGonagall says, giggling. "Speaking of which–"

"No!" Hagrid cuts in. "No! Not again! We all remember what happened last time!"

"What happened last time?" MAN RAY BITCH asks.

"Well, you see–" Flitwick starts to explain.

"Oh, Flitty," McGonagall titters. "Flitty Flitty Flitty Flit Flitty."

Flitwick glares at her. "You don't even remember my first name, do you."

"Does anyone?" Snape says snarkily.

Tears spring to Flitwick's eyes. "No."

Snape's eyes widen. "Oh no. No. Not–"

Flitwick bursts into tears. "I TRY SO HARD!"

Flitwick throws his arms around Snape and cries into his thigh while Snape awkwardly tries to pretend that this isn't at all weird.

"I try!" Flitwick sobs. "I try to teach and educate and inform, but does anybody remember me? No! I'm a head of house, but nobody remembers that because it's not Slytherin or Gryffindor! I even lost that job in this fic because the author thought it would be funnier that way! I teach Charms, but because I'm not a complete jerk like you or a one-book character like everyone who teaches Defense, nobody remembers that! Especially since Charms is just another weird wand-wavey class without anything to set it apart as its own study! Even the incompetent fortune teller who hasn't even cameoed yet is better known than I am! I'm just, I'm just–I'm just that midget guy! Do you know what that's like?"

"No," Snape says truthfully, patting the Charms professor on the back. "No, I do not."

Flitwick takes a deep sobbing gasp of air. "Snape, I've never been anyone's favorite professor. Not once. Not once not ONCE! I can't even get that little bit down! And yet you, you have the charisma of a wet dog turd, yet at least four graduating students each year name you their favorite professor! How?"

"I don't know," Snape says uncomfortably. His eyes widen. "Minerva! No!"

Minerva simply grins at him and undoes the clasp of her bra. It's at that point that Hagrid's cottage suffers from a rack overflow error.


	17. Ron And Draco Are At Loggerheads Again

The next day at breakfast, the air between Ron and Draco is so chilly you can keep ice cream in it.

"So, what do we have today?" Neville asks.

"Potions," Theo says.

Neville winces. "That sucks. I heard Snape hates Gryffindors."

"Yeah," Theo admits. "Although apparently he's backed off since we started having classes with Hufflepuff instead of Slytherin."

"You know, my grandmother says Gryffindor and Slytherin have hated each other since the founding," Neville says. "Why would they ever stick them together in something as dangerous as Potions?"

Theodore shrugs. "Beats me."

Because it makes the plot more interesting.

"Anyway," Neville says, "got any tips?"

Theo raises an eyebrow. "Uh, this is my first year too, you know."

Neville blushes. "Right. Just nervous."

Theo takes a bite of his waffles. At that moment, a Howler arrives and bobs up and down in front of Ron.

Ron and Draco glance at each other.

"Oh, shit."

* * *

The Howler bobs up and down behind Ron throughout Potions, but Snape doesn't do anything besides take ten points from Gryffindor for not opening it before class. Besides that, Potions goes mostly smoothly, except for two occasions where Snape steps in to interrupt Neville before he can melt or explode his cauldron.

"How?" Snape blurts out after this second instance. "How do you possibly turn a _Boil Cure_ potion into _explosive materials_?"

Neville looks uncomfortable as Snape whisks his cauldron away for cleaning, detoxification, and postmortem, but apart from that class goes calmly. Things are mostly normal in the halls of Hogwarts until Draco stops dead upon seeing a familiar unfamiliar adult.

"Oh, Ronnn," Draco singsongs.

Ron looks at him oddly, and Draco just points. Ron follows his finger, and his mouth drops open when he sees who Draco is pointing to.

"Dad?" Ron asks, shocked.

"Ron!" Arthur Weasley greets him, striding towards him and Draco. "And..._Malfoy._"

"What are you doing here?" Ron asks.

"Oh, well, I heard about an..._issue_," he says, cutting his eyes towards Draco. "And so I just had to show up and get it sorted out. One second."

Arthur reaches over and opens the Howler. A chorus of men chanting "Hey!" over and over again erupts out of it.

"AW, YEAH!" Arthur announces to the school at large. "MY NAME IS ART! YOU KNOW I'M SMART! AND I DO MY PART! IT'S TIME TO START! AND DO YOU KNOW WHY?"

The students in the hall give Arthur, Ron, and Draco wide berth as they try to get around them.

"I'LL TELL YOU WHY!" Arthur shouts, ignoring how he's being ignored. "IT'S BECAUSE THIS SICK, SLIMY, SLITHERING SNAKE–" he points to Draco "–GOT MISSORTED INTO THE GREATEST! HOUSE! IN THE WORLD! MY HOUSE! AND THERE AIN'T NO SNAKES IN MY HOUSE! YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"

The students shift farther away from Arthur. Before the Weasley patriarch can continue, the main doors to the school fly open.

"LUCIUS MALFOY IN DA SCHOOL, FOOLS!" Lucius exclaims. "GONNA TEACH YOU THE RULES, BECAUSE THE MALFOYS ARE CRUEL! WHOOOOOO!"

"MALFOY!" Arthur yells.

Lucius's head snaps towards him. "WEASLEY!"

"MALFOY!"

"WEASLEY!"

"MALFOY!"

"WEASLEY!"

"SHADDUP!"

The two grown men look at the interrupter: Pomona Sprout, who is rubbing her temple and carrying a mug of tea.

"Jesus Christ, shut up," she mumbles at them. "Fuckers can't even keep their mouths shut when a lady has a hangover...fuck, did Minerva take her bra off last night? We've all told her she can't do that...Jesus fuck!"

Sprout wanders into a broom closet and casts a silencing spell over it. Seconds later, Arthur and Lucius resume their bickering.

"YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST WALK IN HERE LIKE SOME KIND OF KING, WEASLEY?" Lucius shouts. "WELL THERE'S ONE KING ON THIS EARTH! ONE! AND YOU KNOW WHO IT IS? JESUS, MOTHERFUCKER! AND THERE'S ONE MAN, I SAY THERE'S ONE MAN, ONE MAN IN ALL THE WIZARDING WORLD WHO CAN WALK INTO HOGWARTS AND BEND THE HEADMASTER TO HIS WHIMS, AND THAT MAN IS LUCIUS! MALLLLLFOOOOYYYYY!"

"YOU TRYING TO STEP TO ME?" Arthur shouts back. "YOU TRYING TO STEP, SON? I GOT SEVEN KIDS, I AIN'T GOT TIME FOR NO STEPSONS! I GOT A FAMILY I LOVE! I GOT A BEAUTIFUL WIFE! A DRAGON-TAMING SON! A PREFECT SON! TWO PRANKSTER SONS! A BEAUTIFUL DAUGHTER! AND ANOTHER SON NOBODY EVER MENTIONS! BUT MOST IMPORTANTLY, I GOT A SON HAVING TO PUT UP WITH A SNEAKY SNAKE IN HIS DORM! AND YOU KNOW WHAT? THAT! WON'T! STAND! BECAUSE MY NAME! IS ART! I'M VERY! SMART! I DO! MY PART! AND I HAVE! A HEART! SO LET'S TAKE IT! FROM! THE! START!"

"OH YEAH, WEASLEY?"

"OH YEAH, MALFOY!"

"IT'S ON!"

The two irate fathers charge at each other before skidding to a stop in front of each other. They hold out their left hands and link them as they prepare for deadly combat. The halls of Hogwarts fall silent, partly because everyone wants to treat the battle with the reverence it deserves but mostly because everybody else has class and it's unlikely they'll get a late pass for yet another fight between Lucius Malfoy and Arthur Weasley.

The thumb war is long and hard-fought, with Lucius and Arthur darting their thumbs in at each other repeatedly but never able to completely trap the other. There are a couple of instances where Arthur gains the upper hand by getting his thumb down on top of Lucius's, but Lucius always manages to wiggle it free after a couple of seconds. The fight has gone on for thirteen minutes before anyone interrupts.

"Hey–"

"–dad!"

Attention jarred, Arthur looks up at his twin sons. This provides Lucius with an opportunity to use his right hand to grab Arthur's thumb and slam it down before pinning it with his thumb right on the joint before Arthur can look back, and ten seconds later, Arthur is forced to concede defeat.

"You cheated!" he complains.

Lucius smirks. "It's not my fault you care more about the love of your family than winning wrestling matches. I guess that's why you're...A LOSER, WEASLEY! A LOSER WITH A LOSER FAMILY OF LOSERS! WITH RED HAIR!"

"Our hair is–" one twin starts to say.

"–rather red," the other twin finishes.

"Can't buy it–"

"–in a store–"

"–or at a salon–"

"–or from Professor Snape."

"Although–"

"–I bet–"

"–he wishes–"

"–he could."

"Boys," Arthur says levelly. "Do you know why I'm here?"

Fred and George glance at each other and then back at their father.

"It's because I received the very disturbing news that a _Malfoy_ has been sorted into Gryffindor," Arthur explains. "And–"

"YOU BASTARD!" Draco yells at Ron. "I TOLD YOU NOT TO TELL HIM!"

"I DIDN'T!" Ron defends himself.

"I did," an unfamiliar voice says.

Percy Weasley oozes towards them like pus. Not like an octopus, because octopuses swim, or occasionally climb, and often use their suction cups to move. He moves towards them like actual pus. Like from a wound, or a zit. That's how he oozes towards our joint family gathering. Like zit pus.

"YOU?" Ron and Draco ask at the same time.

"That's right," Percy says pusily. "I knew that the Sorting Hat must have made a mistake."

"Say what?" Seymour asks, popping into the scene. "I don't make mistakes!"

Seymour, you're not supposed to show up and explain yourself until later in the chapter. How'd you get here, anyway?

I'm the Sorting Hat. I can go anywhere in Hogwarts. Not in the world, mind you, but Hogwarts, yeah, I can get everywhere.

Even the Chamber of Secrets?

Yeah. Why, you wanna go there?

Not yet. But if you can go to the Chamber of Secrets, why'd you need the phoenix to bring you there?

The phoenix didn't bring me there. I brought the phoenix there so it could piss on Harry Potter.

I thought it cried on Harry Potter.

Well maybe that's what the parental groups demanded because you have to think of the children, but no. Birds can't cry. It's anatomically impossible. Q.E.D. Fawkes pissed on Harry Potter.

Huh. You learn something new every day.

Actually, Fawkes shat on Harry Potter, since birds don't pee either, but that doesn't parse as well. I guess what I'm trying to say is that J. K. Rowling is a hack when it comes to avian biology.

Aren't most people?

Yes, but being a hack is no excuse for being inaccurate.

Wise words, Seymour. Now can we return to the story?

Certainly.

Seymour pops out of the scene and returns to the headmaster's office. The rest of the gathered group returns their attention to Percy.

"Yes," Percy says pusily. "I knew that it was in everybody's best interest if we got this sorted out so that Draco might be placed in a house more...not Gryffindor. After all, as a responsible prefect, it is my job to protect the students from bad influences."

"YOU CALLING MY SON A BAD INFLUENCE, PUNK?" Lucius howls in Percy's face.

"Yes," Percy says pusily.

"I WOULD PUNCH YOU were this not a school and you under eighteen," Lucius says in the most calm voice he's used yet. "BUT DRACO IS EXACTLY WHERE HE NEEDS TO BE! BECAUSE HE IS A MALFOY! AND MALFOYS! SUCCEED! AND WEASLEYS! SUCK, SEE?"

"Regardless," Percy says pusily, "I think we should all go visit the headmaster so he can straighten all this out."

Arthur nods. "That's a good idea."

The group sets out for the headmaster's office. Suddenly Lucius stops.

"WAIT!" he yells. "I ALMOST FORGOT! DOBBY!"

Dobby pops into existence next to Lucius.

"HIT! MY! MUSIC!"

Dobby does so, and the group struggles up the stairs as the music blares. As the song goes on, Lucius looks confused, and then annoyed.

_Would you like some sweeties little girl_

_Come a little closer_

_I'm gonna show you a brand new world tonight_

After a minute and a half, Lucius has had enough. "DOBBY! WRONG MUSIC!"

_I've got a palace full of fantasy_

_Ready-made just for you and me_

_Once you're there I'm gonna take you for a ride_

The music finally cuts off. As usual, the silence is deafening.

"Why do we even have that music?" Lucius wonders normally.

The trek continues in silence until they reach the gargoyle outside Dumbledore's office. Percy confidently strides up to it.

"We're here to see Dumbledore," he says pusily.

"What's the password?" the gargoyle grumbles.

Percy looks surprised pusily. "The password? Uh..."

"Lemme guess, you don't know it," the gargoyle says.

"No, I know it!" Percy defends himself pusily. "Just give me a second!"

The gargoyle scoffs. "Bullshit, kid."

"No, I know it!" Percy exclaims pusily. "It's, uh, uh, yeah, okay, it's, uh, TWIX!"

"Wrong...password...bitch," the gargoyle grinds out. "And yes, Dumbledore did tell me to say it that way."

Lucius rolls his eyes. "Step aside, Weasley, I know what the password is."

Percy sticks his nose in the air pusily. "I sincerely doubt–"

Lucius shoves Percy to the side, and Percy goes tumbling down the stairs. Lucius smirks and steps up to the gargoyle. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," the gargoyle says sarcastically.

"Colby Keller," Lucius says.

The gargoyle shifts to the side. "You may enter."

The group tromps into the office, and the author wishes he had split the party, as neither Fred nor George nor Ron nor Draco nor Arthur have had any speaking lines since heading up to the headmaster's office, where the headmaster incidentally is not.

Arthur clears his throat. "Where's the headmaster?"

"Oh, he's not here," Seymour says.

Everyone looks at the Sorting Hat.

"What?" Seymour says. "I fill in for him sometimes. You know, when he's indisposed. Like right now. Anyway, what do you people want?"

"We want to know why Draco was sorted into Gryffindor," Arthur says. "After all, there's no way a MALFOY could EVER BE BRAVE!"

If Seymour had eyes, it'd roll them. "Please. Draco was sorted into Gryffindor because he's shortsighted, rude, and completely tactless."

Ron draws himself up, affronted. "That is _not_ what Gryffindor stands for!"

"Oh, please," Seymour says. "You got sorted into Gryffindor because you're blunt, shortsighted, and have a quick temper."

"Oh yeah?" Arthur asks. "Well _Malfoy_ has a quick temper too! So what's _Slytherin_ stand for, huh?"

"Selfishness, arrogance, and good financial planning," Seymour explains. "See, while Lucius is a lot like you, he at least knows how to sell merch."

"HE'S A SELL-OUT!" Arthur yells.

"And that's why he's rich, and you're poor," Seymour says. "Now, if there are no more questions?"

Percy heaves himself into the room pusily. "Where's the headmaster?"

At that moment, the door to the closet opens and Dumbledore falls out, completely and utterly naked.


	18. Percy Falls Down The Stairs

"Professor Dumbledore?" Percy asks, sounding shocked and pus-filled. "What are you doing in the closet?"

This awakens Dumbledore's wrath, and he rises to his feet like a tidal wave of naked elderly glory.

"What did you say?" Dumbledore asks coldly.

"I–" Percy says, uncomfortable in the face of such amazing and uncompromising elderly genitalia. "I just wanted to know about–you, and the closet, and–"

"Enough," Dumbledore says. "You get a week's worth of detention with Substitute Professor Madame Hooch. Now get out of my office."

Percy stumbles backwards out of Dumbledore's office, unable to tear his eyes away from the old man's glorious manhood and wrinkly nutsack until he falls down the stairs for the second time that day.

"Now," Dumbledore says, unwilling or unable to spark the usual twinkle into his eyes, "what exactly do the rest of you want?"

Arthur clears his throat. "It was brought to my attention that Draco Malfoy was sorted into Gryffindor."

"Yes," Dumbledore says. "That is a thing that happened."

"Well, are you–" Draco says uncomfortably, doing his best not to make eye contact with Dumbledore's dong, "–are you sure that–that that was–the correct decision?"

"That's not up to me," Dumbledore says. "That's up to the Sorting Hat. Sorting Hat?"

"I'm right," Seymour says. "He's a total Gryffindor."

"And there you have it," Dumbledore says. "Now Lucius, I'm sure you're disappointed–"

"DISAPPOINTED?" Lucius yells. "IN _MY_ SON?"

"JESUS FUCK KEEP IT DOWN!" Dumbledore howls, massaging his temple.

"disappointed? in _my_ son?" Lucius yells in a quiet voice. "lemme tell you something, lucius malfoy has been disappointed in a lot of things, but he has never, i mean never, never ever been disappointed in his son! you take that and shove it up your ass, baby! draco is my son, and anybody talking shit about him is about to get the shit knocked out of 'em, you feel me?"

"Fine," Dumbledore says, still massaging his forehead. "Draco's a Gryffindor, you're okay with it–"

"I'm not!" Arthur pipes up. "Honestly, Albus–"

Dumbledore lifts his head and glares at the people gathered in his office. "Shut. Up."

Arthur's mouth slams shut.

"Let me tell you something," Dumbledore says. "I have a bitch of a hangover right now, and your incessant bickering and yelling and ranting and raving over God knows what stupid issue is making it worse. Now what you're going to do is leave this office, and what I'm going to do is shut the door and then make myself a hangover cure consisting mainly of pancakes and Gatorade. Now, if you still want to bother me with whatever this is, you can do that in a month, when my current low-heat-but-simmering hatred of you for exacerbating my hangover has been allowed to cool. But until then, none of you are to bother me unless at least five students die. And even then, it'd be better if someone else–someone who _isn't_ a constantly yelling nincompoop–gave me the news. Any questions?"

There are no questions.

"Go," Dumbledore says, pointing towards his office door.


	19. Hermione Granger Confronts The Squirrel

Professor Squirrel faces the chalkboard, breathing heavily. Hermione's arm is waving uselessly in the air, as it has been for the past four lessons and ten minutes–ten minutes because class has only been going on that long.

Today is different, however. Today, Hermione is going to take the next step in actually trying to learn something in this class! Today, Hermione is going to _speak up without being called on_.

Yes, yes, that's not such a big deal, unless you're Hermione Granger, who always respects teachers. But she doesn't really respect Professor Squirrel. Mainly because he's completely and utterly failed to teach them _anything_ in four classes and ten minutes.

Also he's constantly scratching his neck or chest or occasionally his cheek. Ew.

All she needs to do is take a deep breath, and...

And...

And...

And LET IT OUT SO SHE DOESN'T FAINT, yes. That's a good start.

And then...

"Professor Squirrel, sir?" she pipes up.

Professor Squirrel spins around from his place at the board and looks around the room, wild-eyed, before his eyes settle back into their familiar dull glaze and he just stares at the room absentmindedly.

"I have a question, sir," Hermione continues, trying not to be undeterred.

Professor Squirrel regains his lucidity. "You have a question?"

"Yes, sir," Hermione confirms.

"Alright!" Professor Squirrel says happily. "Alright alright alright alright alright alright alright alright alright alright–"

Professor Squirrel continues to recite the one line of _Hey Ya_ he knows until he runs out of breath and passes out. He spends the rest of class on the floor. This means that the Defense Against the Dark Arts class is approximately as informative as it always is.

* * *

"God, that Hermione is such a swot!" Ron complains as the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs exit the class.

"Total swot," Draco agrees. "I bet nobody wants to spend time with her, not even in Dufferpuff."

Ron snickers. "Dufferpuff. That's a good one."

"And sadly, it's probably the most intelligent thing you'll ever say," Blaise drawls, coming up behind them. "At least, judging by how you so obviously _want_ to end up uneducated."

Ron glares at him. "What'd you say?"

"He said you're stupid," Hannah pipes. Hermione looks at her housemates, shocked. "Is that dumb enough for you, or does it have to be made simpler?"

"Well–well at least I'm not a swot!" Ron shoots back.

"Yeah," Blaise agrees. "Just a cousinfucker."

"I'M NOT A COUSINFUCKER!" Ron and Draco both shout.

"Really? That's a pity," Blaise says. "It'd at least provide you an excuse when you end up as trailer trash."

Ron and Draco look confused. "What's trailer trash?"

"You two morons," Hannah says. "C'mon, Hermione, let's get to our next class."

Ron and Draco stare at each other, dumbfounded, as the Hufflepuff trio walk away. Theo snickers at them.

"What do _you_ find so funny, Nott?" Draco says witheringly.

"You got told off by Hufflepuffs," Theo says, smirking. "Nicely done."

"Yeah!" Neville agrees. "Y'all's ain't nothing but a pair of ignorant bitch-ass losers!"

Ron and Draco stare at each other, flabbergasted, as Neville saunters past them, followed shortly thereafter by a confused-looking Theo.

* * *

Rumor spreads quickly throughout the school about how Ron and Draco got told off by the Hufflepuffs.

"Really, Ron?" one of the twins asks.

"You decided–"

"–to get in a fight–"

"–with the Hufflepuffs–"

"–even though–"

"–they're badgers."

"What does them being badgers have to do with anything?" Theo asks.

"Honey badger don't give a shit," the twins say simultaneously.

Draco blinks. "What the hell's a honey badger?"

The twins shrug.

"Whatever," Ron says derisively. "She's still a swot."

"That's why Neville sided with her, you know," Millicent says.

The rest of the table turns to stare at her.

"What?" Millicent asks defensively.

"Since when are you in Gryffindor?" Draco asks, sounding completely baffled.

Theo rolls his eyes. "It's not her fault you're too self-absorbed to notice the other people in the dorm."

"I'm not self-absorbed!" Draco defends himself.

"You spent an hour this morning working on your hair," Ron says.

Draco smirks. "Looks this amazing take work, you realize."

"You know, you two should apologize," Millicent continues.

"What?" Draco and Ron ask simultaneously. "Why?"

Millicent rolls her eyes. "Because she's obviously the smartest person in our year, which means you don't want to be on her bad side."

Draco and Ron stare at her. "Why does that matter?"

Millicent pinches the bridge of her nose. "No wonder you two didn't get sorted into Slytherin."

"Well neither did you!" Draco and Ron shoot back. "So ha!"

Millicent shuts her eyes tightly, hoping to shut out the stupidity. I speak from experience when I say that this doesn't work.


	20. There Is A Troll In The Dungeons

After all this, life at Hogwarts returned to normal, or as normal as life can be at a magical school named after the warts on a hog. But that's boring, so we're going to skip straight to Halloween, where everybody was getting ready to trick-or-treat among Hogwarts. Sure, it was kind of lame, going from dorm to dorm to get candy, but on the other hand, it was the most interesting event of the Hogwarts school year, which in retrospect really puts things into perspective, doesn't it.

Regardless, we have now skipped forward to Halloween, along the way glossing over everything that happened over the two months in between when we left off and where we are now. To be fair, not much really happened. Sure, there was the time that Hagrid tried to get everyone together for a sleepover in his shack. And the time that Professor Binns brought in Curtis Mayfield's ghost to play a concert. And that time that the faculty held a rock-paper-scissors tournament to decide who would teach sex ed this year, which MAN RAY BITCH lost.

But that's not at all relevant to the story, so let's get back to Halloween at Hogwarts.

"Dude, why are you dressed up like a total slut?" some random female Ravenclaw fifth-year asks Slagathor.

"Because I'm going as YOUR MOM!" Slagathor shoots back. "Also I'm totally gonna get laid tonight."

The fifth-year snorts. "Yeah, with whom? Your _boyfriend?_"

"It could happen!" Slagathor defends herself. "He could sleep with me!"

"Wrong!" the fifth-year declares. "He's a total pusy."

Okay, that isn't relevant either. Let's go somewhere else.

* * *

_But I spent oh so many nights just thinking how you did me wrong and I grew strong  
And I learned how to get along  
__And now you're back from outer space_

Okay, now we've got...oh shit that's Dumbledore discoing in the nude in his private quarters. Abort! Abort!

* * *

"...so if we continue down this road, we should see continued interest in our product due to this advertising campaign."

And now we're in one of Vernon Dursley's business meetings. Nope!

* * *

"Why are you dressed up like a total slut?"

"Because it's Halloween, duh," Pomona Sprout replies. "Ima get FREAKY with ALL the boys!"

"...all the boys?" Madame Hooch asks doubtfully.

"Or just get drunk and masturbate," Sprout says. "Whatever. I do what I want!"

Snape rolls his eyes. "At least she didn't dress up like Hitler again."

"Hey," Sprout says seriously, pointing at him. "EVERYONE wanted to pound Hitler's pussy that night. EVERYBODY."

Right. Let's just leave that image behind and go to the pre-trick-or-treating meal.

* * *

"...and finally, anybody who gives out cursed candy will be hung from the astronomy tower by their genitals," Snape declares, finishing his speech on safety and trick-or-treating. "Now, if there are no further questions–"

"Professor Snape!" Professor Squirrel interrupts. "Is candy a euphemism?"

Snape pinches his eyes shut. "No, it is not a euphemism."

"Oh," Professor Squirrel says. "Euphemism means that you're avoiding saying what you mean while insinuating–"

"I know what it means," Snape says crabbily.

"Well maybe when you said candy you really meant–" Squirrel tries to continue.

"I didn't," Snape says shortly. "Candy is candy is candy. Does anyone have anything else to interject?"

"Yeah!" Squirrel says, scratching his neck idly.

Snape waits several seconds for him to continue before clearing his throat. "Well, then, in that case, I'd like to–"

"Hold on, I'm not done," Squirrel interrupts.

Snape stares at him for a little bit before turning back to his audience. "I would like to–"

"Still not done," Squirrel interrupts.

"Yes, you are," Snape says flatly. "Trick-or-treating is now–"

"There's a troll in the dungeon," Squirrel says calmly, still idly scratching his neck.

The entire table of teachers whirls to look at him.

"Well then," Snape says calmly. "Seeing as you didn't feel fit to inform us of this _earlier_, I believe I would be justified in asking you WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU YOU MORON!"

Squirrel looks confused. "There's nothing wrong with me! You're the ones dressed up like monsters and ghosts and ghost monsters."

Dumbledore stands up. "Very well. Everyone, return to your dormitories! You should be safe there!"

"Hold up!" Flitwick interrupts. "Aren't Slytherin and Hufflepuff in the dungeons?"

Dumbledore nods wisely as he sits back down. "That they are. Why do you ask?"

"Because maybe we shouldn't be sending our students down where the troll is?" Flitwick suggests.

"Of course!" Dumbledore declares. "I should have thought of that! Change of plans, all. Hufflepuff is to stay behind in the Great Hall."

Snape blinks at him slowly. "Albus, aren't you forgetting something?"

"You're right," Dumbledore says. "Gryffindors, you stay behind too. And come to think of it, Ravenclaws, you should probably stay with us too, make it a party."

"...and what about the Slytherins?" MAN RAY BITCH finally prompts.

"Oh, the Slytherins should return to their dormitories," Dumbledore declares.

Snape scowls at him.

"I should make it an official announcement, shouldn't I?" Dumbledore says contemplatively. "Of course, I never did turn off the microphone, so I suppose this is all an official announcement, but I should make it more official. You know, give it the feel of being official instead of some old man's random rambling monologue. Very well then."

Dumbledore stands up again. "Slytherins! You are to return to your dormitories! In the dungeons! Where the troll is! Immediately!"

Snape facepalms, slowly runs his hand down his face, and then stands up.

"Not you, Severus," Dumbledore says. "Oh, wait." He turns off the microphone. "You're staying here for a bit. I want to see how the Slytherins deal with this troll."

Snape gapes at his boss. "They're TEENAGERS!"

"I know," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling creepily. "It should be _hilarious._"


	21. The Troll Is Confronted

The Slytherins make their way out of the Great Hall.

"Alright," Gemma says, turning to face her charges. "Who here is good at confronting trolls?"

Nobody raises their hand.

"Good," she says. "Because if there's one thing you don't want to do, it's feed the trolls."

"Not like there's anything here to eat," a voice behind her says. "Because you already ate it!"

Gemma slowly turns around and sees the ugliest thing ever.

She sees you?

Sorting Hat, what the heck? What are you doing here?

I do what I want.

And you want to be here?

I can go anywhere in Hogwarts. Which means either I hang out with the ghosts, I go into the Great Hall and watch everybody bumble over themselves, especially Slagathor who now has to make sure the Ravenclaws don't do something stupid instead of making out with her boyfriend, I sit on a shelf in Dumbledore's office watching his knickknacks be all kinds of annoying, or I go where the plot is.

That makes sense.

Yeah, I'm kind of making the best of a really, really crappy situation.

Right, okay. Well can we get back to the plot?

Can I narrate it instead?

No.

Please?

No.

Please?

No.

Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

No.

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

I said no!

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

NO!

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

ALRIGHT, FINE! YOU CAN FUCKING NARRATE JUST SHUT UP!

eeeeeeease. Oh why thank you.

Whatever.

Anyway, the troll, who is pretty obviously just the author inserting himself into the story like a douche–

Hey!

Am I wrong?

...go on.

So like a douche, the author inserts himself into the story as a troll, but since he doesn't want to murder anybody–YET–well, you know, aside from the obvious candidate–he's just basically an internet troll, only crappier, since at least internet trolls are entertaining.

Not really.

Oh like you have any room to judge. This entire fic is evidence of how completely and utterly uninteresting you are.

Are you showing up just to insult me?

_Yes, he is._

Who the hell are you?

_You'll find out in...actually, I'm gonna pop back and edit in the actual number of chapters it takes after I first show up. For now, let's just say it's 20 chapters and leave it at that._

What.

I mean, that was no less inexplicable than any of the other horrible, horrible plotting and writing and editorial choices you've made throughout this story.

Shut up.

That was another character who can break the fourth wall, wasn't it? Ooh, I wonder who it is! Maybe we can become friends!

Look, you wanted to narrate the story, NARRATE THE FUCKING STORY!

This seems like a sore spot for you. Don't you like criticism?

GET ON WITH IT!

Wow, touchy. So where were we...oh yeah. Troll in the dungeons, approaching the Slytherins, just insulted what's-her-face...

"She just ate it?" Greg asks, confused. "What did she eat?"

"EVERYTHING!" the troll declares. "Because she's FAT!"

Greg and Vince laugh stupidly.

"Wait, where's Draco?" Vince asks.

"I think he's still inside the food place," Greg says.

"How come we're not at the food place?" Vince asks.

Greg frowns. "I'm still hungry."

"So am I, Greg," Vince agrees.

"We should go back into the food place."

"But didn't we get thrown out of the food place?"

"Why'd they throw us out, Vince?"

"So tell me," the troll interrupts, looking at the rest of the Slytherins. "Is everyone else here this stupid, or are they mild exaggerations?"

"We're not stupid!" one of the unnamed Slytherins pipes up.

The name's Harold, actually. Harold Parhig. Third-year, talented at Arithmancy and Divination, despite the reputation those subjects have for being oppositional. Likely to blossom into a seer, very good at math, and absolutely hates the less focused subjects like Transfiguration, Charms, or History. I thought about putting him in Ravenclaw, actually, but he's not interested in learning for its own sake so much as what can be done with it–which is partly why he's so motivated to succeed in those two subjects.

"Oh, aren't you?" the troll asks, snickering. "Then what's 666?"

Harold blinks. "What?"

"It's twice 33, of course," the troll explains. "And 33 is pi. Simple enough."

"That's not how it works!" another Slytherin interjects.

Rebecca Dakota, sixth-year, mostly average, rather poor at Transfiguration but surprisingly skilled at Charms. Never lives up to her full potential due to being distracted by her social life, and therefore not as good as she could be. A born politician, though; that's where she shines.

"Oh really?" the troll asks. "How about you explain."

"Well firstly, half of 666 is–"

"WRONG!" the troll interrupts.

"–what? No, you didn't let me finish, it's–"

"WRONG!"

"WOULD YOU SHUT UP!" another Slytherin...

...

What?

I thought you were telling us what each of the Slytherins were named, what they're good at, blah blah blah.

I could do that. Or I could ignore it and just get on with the plot. After all, we're never going to see any of these very, very unoriginal characters again.

...thanks for that insult, Seymour.

You're welcome.

"WOULD YOU SHUT UP!" another Slytherin yells angrily.

"Make me," the troll shoots back.

Alright, fine. The Slytherin you're referring to is Spike Rumfellow. And yes, he is a teetotaler. Also, really, REALLY good at Potions and Astronomy, and one of the finest students in his year overall.

At this point, Snape arrives, robes billowing not as dramatically as they should. He strides up to...strides? Is that the right word?

It's the right word.

It looks wrong. Anyway, Snape arrives, marching up to–yes, marching is better than strides. Miles better. He pulls a mallet out of his pocket, and the troll looks at him, unimpressed.

"A mallet? Really?" the troll sneers. "No wand?"

Snape sneers back. "This isn't just any mallet. It's a hammer."

The troll snorts. "You can't hurt me with a hammer, fool!"

"What about a banhammer?" Snape asks.

The troll looks a bit worried. "That's not a banhammer."

Snape rushes at the troll. The troll puts its hands up to protect itself, but it's too late–Snape's banhammer comes down on his head. The troll goes down, and goes down hard. Snape glares down at its prone form.

"You mad, bro?" Snape asks angrily.


	22. The Hufflepuffs Pet A Dog

It's a couple of weeks after Halloween when Blaise Zabini bursts into the library, where Hermione Granger is studying (as usual).

Wait hold on, shouldn't I still be narrating?

No, that was a one-time thing.

Well I did a better job than you ever will. I should be the permanent narrator.

No, you should NOT.

Ask the fans. They'll agree with me.

Fuck the fans, I'm narrating!

Oh, yeah, "fuck the fans." That'll go over real well in the review section.

You know as well as I do that nobody ever reviews.

With the way you write, that's a perk.

Don't you have something else to do?

No.

Well too bad, I'm narrating.

Fine. I'm just trying to make this story better.

And with that, Seymour flits off to do something else.

"Hermione!" Blaise says loudly, rushing over to her.

"Blaise!" Hermione says, annoyed. "This is a library! People are trying to read, and study, and do all kinds of things that are better done without noise!"

"Okay, okay," Blaise says, bouncing in place. "Then come with me!"

"I'm busy studying!" Hermione complains.

Blaise stares at her, annoyed. "Yeah, no. That copy of _Animorphs_ isn't as well hidden as you think it is."

Hermione huffs. "How do you know I wasn't assigned it?"

"Because we share the same classes and you need to get out and have fun with your friends once in a while so come on!"

So saying, Blaise turns and hightails it out of the library. Hermione huffs but puts her books away and walks out into the hall, as Blaise knew she would. He's waiting there for her, as Hermione knew he would be. The only surprise, really, is that Dudley Dursley is with them.

"Why's he here?" Hermione asks.

Blaise shrugged. "I figured we needed a third."

"For what?" Hermione asks.

"C'mon," Blaise says. "Let's walk and talk."

Blaise sets off, and his two companions follow behind him.

"Now, it was earlier today," Blaise begins his story. "I had just finished breakfast–"

"What'd you have?" Dudley asks. "I had Corn Pops."

"–you know, I've never really enjoyed those," Blaise says. "I just don't like their texture against the roof of my mouth."

"That's a shame," Dudley says. "They're my favorite cereal."

"You might enjoy Cap'n Crunch then," Hermione says. "Slightly more sweet, even rougher."

Dudley shakes his head. "Cap'n Crunch doesn't absorb milk as well."

"You like your cereal soggy?" Hermione asks, bewildered.

Dudley nods.

"Anyway," Blaise interrupts. "I had just finished my breakfast, which was French toast with marmalade since you were wondering–"

"We weren't," Dudley says, inadvertently speaking for the audience as well.

"–but it was delicious, and as I headed off towards the dormitories it occurred to me that I should probably do some investigating of the bathrooms."

"What," Hermione says flatly.

"Okay, Hermione, have you ever been to the bathroom on the boys' side of the Hufflepuff dorms?" Blaise asks.

"...why would I ever?" Hermione asks.

"See, that's what I think too," Blaise says smoothly. "There's a toilet in there that won't stop running, the water pressure's pretty bad, the hot water runs out too quick–really, I think we're all-in-all too far away from the plumbing, do the girls have those problems?"

Hermione shrugs. "Kind of? I don't really take long showers."

Blaise nods wisely. "That explains the hair."

Hermione looks annoyed. Dudley looks like he should be mentioned just so the readers don't forget that he's in this scene.

"Anyway, since the toilets in the Hufflepuff dorms suck so much, it occurred to me that I should try and find out where the best bathrooms in the school are. So I set off through the school, planning to search it for bathrooms, when I ended up here."

Hermione looks dubious. "The third floor?"

"Exactly!" Blaise exclaims. "Now, Hogwarts doesn't do a very good job of marking where everything is. I mean, we have to go through portraits instead of using something normal, like doors or waterslides."

"Why in the world would we use waterslides to go places?" Hermione asks.

"Uh, because it's fun and awesome?" Blaise suggests. "Seriously, live a little. I bet even Dudley would agree that going down waterslides is fun and awesome."

"I always wear my shirt to the pool because I don't want anyone to know I'm fat," Dudley says. "They don't let you go down the waterslide with a shirt on."

Blaise and Hermione share a look before Blaise returns to his story. "Anyway, I was up here, pushing open doors, when I came across Dudley standing in a closet, crying to himself."

Hermione casts him a disturbed look.

"I find small places comforting!" Dudley defends himself.

Putting a little bit too much of yourself into this character, aren't you?

Well Dudley _is_ supposed to be some kind of self-insert in this story.

"Leaving aside Dudley's massively crippling mental traumas," Blaise says, getting the story back on track, "I continued on down the hall until I pushed a door open. A door that looked something...like...this!"

Blaise throws a door open, revealing a roomful of corn.

"No, this wasn't it, sorry," Blaise says, shutting the door again. "It was the next door down."

Blaise pulls the next door open, and a bunch of barking erupts from inside.

"Is that a dog?" Dudley asks, eyes wide.

"Yep!" Blaise says happily.

"I'm scared of dogs!" Dudley says, scared, feet pounding down the corridor instinctively as he runs for the nearest staircase.

Blaise looks perturbed. "Well. That's a shame. Wanna pet him, Hermione?"

"Pet–the angry barking dog?"

"It's not just any dog! It's a Cerberus! And it's excited to see us!"

"How do you know it won't eat us?"

Blaise laughs. "Because he said he wouldn't and let me pet him!"

"H–he?"

"Actually, I identify as female," a harsh voice from inside the room says.

"Who said that?" Hermione asks worriedly.

"I did," the voice says. "I'm Winnie, the right head."

"Paul, the left head," another voice says.

"And I'm Kevin, the central head and leader of the body," yet another voice says.

Hermione nervously looks in and sees an incredibly large three-headed dog waiting inside.

"A talking. Dog," Hermione says.

"Cerberus, actually," the heads say in unison.

"H–HOW?" Hermione blurts.

Blaise grins. "Magic. Now who wants head scritches?"

The Cerberus lunges towards the door, all of the heads battling it out to see who gets scritched first. Hermione nervously reaches out towards the nearest head–Paul–and begins scritching. Blaise does the same with Winnie. Kevin whines.

"You got to go first last time, Kevin," Blaise reminds the dog with a grin on his face as his scritches meander down Winnie's neck towards the belly all three of them share.


	23. Hermione Wonders About The Trapdoor

The Hufflepuff duo leaves the room about an hour and a half later, when the Cerberus has been thoroughly scritched and petted and loved.

"See?" Blaise raves. "Wasn't that fantastic?"

"I guess," Hermione agrees. "But you know what I wonder?"

"Where the best bathrooms are?" Blaise guesses. "Because I still didn't finish finding them."

"No," Hermione says. She looks intrigued. "Although, if there's a really good one by the library...no. No, not that. I'm wondering what was up with that trapdoor."

"What trapdoor?" Blaise asks.

"The one on the floor," Hermione says. "I'd bet anything that Winnie, Kevin and Paul were put there to guard the door."

"But why?" Blaise asks. "Why would you guard a trapdoor...unless there's something inside...oh goddammit."

Hermione grins. "Yes."

"We're going to end up investigating, aren't we," Blaise says flatly.

"Yes," Hermione says.

"And this is my punishment for not letting you read your books in peace," Blaise concludes.

"It is," Hermione agrees.

Blaise pinches the bridge of his nose. "I'm not going to deal with this on an empty stomach. To Qdoba!"

* * *

Blaise and Hermione settle in on opposite sides of a booth, a plate of chips and guacamole between them.

"Why did I have to pay for the chips?" Hermione complains. "You're the one with all the money."

"I forgot my wallet," Blaise defends himself. "How was I supposed to know we were going to Qdoba?"

"You dragged me here!"

"I did no such thing! I dragged you to see the Cerberus!"

"What Cerberus?" a pair of voices interrupt.

Blaise swivels around and sees Ron and Draco peering at him from the next booth.

"What are _you two_ doing here?" Hermione asks disgustedly.

Ron and Draco look down at the plate they're sharing. "Eating nachos," they say simultaneously.

"And why were you spying on us?" Blaise asks pointedly.

"I'm not a spy!" Ron says, defending himself through a mouthful of queso, steak, and tortilla chips.

Draco steeples his fingers, trying to look sinister. "The better question is, what do we know?"

"Nothing," Hermione says flatly. "Because we just sat down."

"Wrong!" Draco shoots back. "I know that Blaise forgot his wallet!"

The two Hufflepuffs stare at him.

"...and?" Ron eventually prompts.

"That means he can't get guacamole _and_ queso with his chips!" Draco explains.

"Yes, and?" Hermione prompts.

"I happen to know for a fact that Blaise loves queso!" Draco says.

"Everybody loves queso," Ron mumbles through another mouthful of nachos.

"That is true," Hermione agrees. "Although it is rather fattening."

Ron swallows. "So what does a Cerberus have to do with anything?"

"Why should we tell you anything?" Blaise asks. "You crept up on us!"

"You should tell me because..." Draco pauses, trying to think of a reason.

"That's what I thought," Hermione sniffs.

"Yeah," Blaise agrees.

Hermione and Blaise turn back to their chips and commence eating. A few minutes later, though, Hermione can't take it anymore.

"Alright, fine!" Hermione blurts. "But you two have to come to our booth if you want to talk."

Draco and Ron glance at each other, pick up their mostly-eaten plate of nachos, and move back one booth to hem in Hermione and Blaise.

"So?" Draco demands greedily. "What's the Cerberus?"

"There's a Cerberus in the school," Blaise explains. "It likes being petted."

"...and?" Ron prompts.

"That's it," Hermione confirms.

Draco groans. "Well that was a waste of time. I should've known that Hufflepuffs wouldn't have anything interesting to say."

In one deft move, Ron swoops a chip through the last of the nachos, picking up the remnants of the steak, cheese, jalapeños, pico, queso, and other chips, and jams it into his mouth.

"And now he's finished off our nachos," Draco says sourly. "Thanks a lot. He ate three-quarters of the plate because of you!"

Ron swallows. "Yeah," he says, panting heavily. "Usually I only get to eat two-thirds."

"To be fair, you usually only eat half of whatever it is at restaurants and then send it back to the kitchen," Blaise points out.

Draco glares at him. "That's not the point."

"What is the point, then?" Hermione asks sweetly.

"The point is that HUFFLEPUFF IS LAME!"

"YEAH!" Ron agrees, hi-fiving him.

And with that, Ron and Draco leave the Qdoba.

"Finally," Hermione says, rolling her eyes. "So what's under the trapdoor?"

"Why do you think there's anything under it?" Blaise asks.

"Because they left a large, three-headed dog to guard it," Hermione says. "I did the reading. You only use guard dogs if you're guarding something."

Blaise rolls his eyes. "It's a _school_, Hermione. What, you think it's the answers to the OWLs?"

"It might be," someone chimes in. "But if I had to bet, I'd say it's something Dumbledore wants hidden."

Hermione and Blaise whip their heads around. Millicent Bullstrode is sitting on a stool at a nearby table.

"Where did you come from?" Blaise asks, shocked.

"I've been here this whole time," Millicent says. She takes a bite of her burrito. "It's not my fault you didn't notice me."

Hermione's mouth opens and closes a couple of times before she decides what she wants to say. "What do you mean, Dumbledore's hiding something? He's the headmaster of the school!"

"So?" Millicent asks. "Just because he's in charge doesn't mean he's a good guy."

"Yeah," Blaise agrees. "I mean, Sprout's in charge of our house, and she's really mean."

"But Dumbledore's _nice_," Hermione points out.

"Nice people can be up to stuff too," Millicent says.

"Fine," Blaise says. "Then what's Dumbledore up to?"

Millicent takes another bite of her burrito and chews on it contemplatively before swallowing and sitting down next to Hermione. "I'll tell you what I know..._if_ you make a deal with me."

"Deal!" Hermione says, just as Blaise suspiciously asks "What _kind_ of deal?"

"You two let me in on whatever you're doing," Millicent says.

Hermione and Blaise glance at each other and then nod.

"Fine," Millicent says. "When I was getting my school supplies, I saw Hagrid stomping around Gringotts, yelling about having to take care of something top secret for Professor Dumbledore. If I had to bet, I'd say that whatever he's hiding is somewhere under that trapdoor."

Blaise and Hermione glance at each other again. Hermione scowls.

"That doesn't really tell us anything," Hermione says.

"I'm not so sure," Blaise says. "It tells us that Dumbledore wants whatever it is to be hidden right under his nose, and that he's willing to put a three-headed guard dog in charge of it. And that's just the first line of defense."

Millicent smiles viciously. "So what do we do now?"

"Now, we all finish our food, go back to our dorms, and forget about the trapdoor because THERE IS A DOG THAT LIKES BEING PETTED IN THIS SCHOOL!" Blaise exclaims loudly. "Honestly, you'd think both of you were in Gryffindor."


	24. Neville Makes A Cauldron Explode

"Children," Snape intones, standing at the front of his class, "it is now November. I'm certain you all know what this means."

Nobody ventures a guess.

"That was rhetorical," Snape confirms. "10 points to Hufflepuff for not answering the question."

"What about us?" Draco and Ron ask. "We didn't answer either!"

Snape scowls. "Very well. 10 points to Gryffindor for not answering."

Ron and Draco hi-five.

"And 5 points from each of you for interrupting a teacher," Snape continues. He smirks. "Now, with November comes the start of winter, and with winter comes cold season. Contrary to popular belief, colds aren't more common because it's winter. They're more common because everyone spends more time indoors in order to escape the cold, and consequently pass those germs to the people around them much faster." He whirls around. "Some of you may not know what I'm talking about, so suffice it to say that because everyone spends time around everyone else, everybody gets sick in winter. If you need more details, you may see me after class, but since I don't want to get too far off track, I would rather get back to the topic at hand. Colds are vastly unenjoyable for everyone, and in most cases, it's best to wait out these colds. There is currently no known cure for the common cold, largely because the effects aren't produced by a single specific virus, but by the body's attempts to fight off low-level viral threats of varying origins. Ms. Granger, put your arm down before it gets stuck there permanently. If you have any questions at this point, they're purely tangential and can be answered after class, and if you want to go on a rant about sicknesses, you may do that after class, assuming anybody is interested in listening to you. Getting back on topic, while there is no cure for the common cold, there are things that can be done to mitigate its effects, and so today, we will be learning how to make cough syrup–I mean, a cough syrup potion. Ms. Granger, why did your hand go up again?"

"I have a question. Sir," she adds.

"Very well. State your query."

"Are we making cough syrup, or a cough syrup potion?"

"A cough syrup potion, Ms. Granger."

"What's the difference?"

"Magic is the difference, Ms. Granger. Because no normal school would have a classful of dunderheads attempt to make cough syrup, but we will. Since we're wizards."

Snape pauses to scan the class. Most of them look ready to get to work, so with a wave of his wand, the instructions begin writing themselves out on the board.

"If there are no further questions, you may begin."

The students begin working on their cough syrup, and Snape begins patrolling the class, ready to head off any accidents, help anyone who needs it, and terrify those who think they can get away with not paying attention in his class. After about ten minutes, though, he starts to relax, although it doesn't show on his face. He can't allow his students to sense any weakness, or they'll stop paying attention, think they can goof off...a lot can go wrong in a potions classroom.

He pauses to stare at the mixture Abbott and MacManus are working on. It looks a little iffy; nothing dangerous at this moment, but if the codine is added too early...but no, they're waiting to add it. It should be workable, if not perfect, and he's about to move on when his sense that something is about to go wrong kicks in, and as if on instinct he whirls around and spots the Longbottom boy poised to pour a full bottle of grape Nehi into his cauldron.

Snape rushes towards him, but it's already too late. The soda is splashing into the cauldron, and he has very little time before everything goes horribly, _horribly_ wrong. He casts a shield spell, hoping against hope that it will encircle the cauldron in time.

Luckily, it does.

The cauldron explodes, but the shield manages to contain most of the damage, with only a few ounces of the potion slipping out. Most of it splashes onto Neville Longbottom, a result Snape notes grimly. His partner is on the other side of the room, mouth open in a fearful gape as he looks over at the scene. Snape pays him no heed as he stomps over to the wreckage, though, since the only thing on his mind is getting an explanation from the Longbottom boy.

"WHAT DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING?"

The Longbottom boy blinks a couple of times.

"ANSWER ME!" Snape demands. "WHY DID YOU THINK IT WOULD BE A GOOD IDEA TO EXPLICITLY DISREGARD MY INSTRUCTIONS, LONGBOTTOM?"

The Longbottom boy shrugs, not looking at him. "You need to calm down, bitch."

Everything around Snape goes red.

"Excuse me?" Snape asks quietly. "What did you just say?"

It's only now that Neville looks over to him. Instead of any expression of fear or remorse, the only thing on his face is boredom. "I said calm down, bitch."

"Yes," Snape says, quietly seething. "I should calm down. Never mind that you were going against the instructions on the board without consulting me at all, never mind that you're in quite possibly the most dangerous class in Hogwarts, never mind that your cauldron exploded and would have sent shrapnel through the class, no, I should keep calm even though you endangered the lives of everyone here. Longbottom, I see your point. After all, we wouldn't want you to feel _uncomfortable_ now, would we?"

Snape glares at Neville. Neville's face remains impassive.

"Now," Snape says, his voice throbbing with anger. "How about you tell me what you were trying to do."

Neville shrugs. "Making sizzurp."

If Snape's face was capable of expressing emotion, it would be a mixture of anger, rage, astonishment, confusion, shock, rage, bewilderment, disgust, rage, rage, and the desire to murder Neville Longbottom's entire extended family before spending several days torturing the boy to death himself. However, the sheer unexpectedness of Neville's reply has frozen his face in an impassive mask incapable of divulging anything.

"Sizzurp," Snape says flatly. "You were making purple drank."

Neville nods.

Snape rubs his nose and then proceeds to take several deep breaths. The class is completely silent, waiting to see what their teacher will do.

"10 points from Gryffindor for ignoring a teacher's instructions," Snape says calmly. "20 points from Gryffindor for adding a foreign ingredient to a potion. 30 points from Gryffindor for destruction of property, both school and personal. 40 points from Gryffindor for attempting to make drugs in class. 100 points from Gryffindor for needlessly and recklessly endangering the lives of your classmates."

The class stays silent, with none of the Gryffindors even attempting to challenge Snape's penalties.

"Finally, I am giving you six months of detention," Snape continues. "And while I would usually assign you to detention with myself, I believe that your particular skillset is best suited for detention with Professor Sprout."

At this statement, murmurs ripple through the classroom, most of them from Hufflepuffs afraid of what their Head of House will do in detention.

Neville sticks his chin out. "Oh, so I'm only suited for working the fields, huh? That's what you think about me? That I'm–"

"SILENCE!" Snape roars, and for the first time Neville looks afraid. "If I was allowed to expel you from my class, I would do so immediately. As it is, I can only suspend you from this class for the rest of this week, and believe me, that's what I'm going to do. Now LEAVE."

Neville shrugs, stands up, throws his shoulders back, and attempts to strut out of the classroom. Since it's Neville Longbottom doing this, though, he just looks stupid.

As soon as he's gone, Snape lets out a loud sigh and begins stomping through class, examining the cauldrons of the rest of his students. "Forgot to add the sugar...spent too long on the heat...turned off the heat...good god, stop cooking that...didn't even add the latter half of the ingredients..."

Snape scowls and storms to the front of the room. Once there, he turns around and stares at his class.

"Thanks to Longbottom's complete idiocy, it looks to me as if none of you were able to effectively complete your potions," he says sourly. "Therefore, in light of today's events, I have decided that none of you will be graded on this attempt. In our next class, we may be attempting this potion again, or we may move on to another potion. I haven't decided yet. However, this potion will not count against your grade due to Longbottom's interference, except for in the cases of Mr. Longbottom and Mr. Nott, who both get Fs."

"Hey!" Theo complains. "I didn't know he was going to mess it up! I was getting some extra ingredients from the cabinet!"

"Is this so?" Snape asks. "Very well. D-minus."

Theo frowns but doesn't argue further. Snape nods.

"Class is dismissed."


	25. Thanksgiving Special: Year One

_Night falls clear on the Slytherin dorm_  
_Where all are asleep as is the norm_

_But still there's a spirit, awake and aware_  
_Of what must be done to save this affair_

_The one called Thanksgiving, the event of the year_  
_Fourth Thursday November, the hour draws near_

_There's football and turkey and cranberry sauce_  
_Potatoes and gravy made with chicken broth_

_Popcorn and stuffing and all kinds of pies_  
_But the worst one of all was created by lies_

_A pizza is glory and majesty too_  
_Pineapples are beauty, we know this is true_

_But when they're combined, perfection appears_  
_A concoction fantastic that brings all to tears_

_Perfection unrivaled, how could it be wrecked?_  
_Well what if a horrid taste did intersect?_

_Ham with pineapple? A horrible thought!_  
_And yet there's a person for whom this path was sought_

_They've ruined the pizza! All hope has been lost!_  
_The addition of ham is a treacherous cost!_

_A villain most vile, most vulgar, most cruel_  
_Has turned delicious pizza into horrific gruel_

_A hero must rise and save all from this blight_  
_But what sort of hero will rise up tonight?_

"WAKE UP!"

Susan Bones screams as she jolts in her bed, tangling in the sheets as she instinctively tries to get away from her assailant only to get them caught around her legs and fall to the floor of the dorm. The person waking her up jumps on her bed and looks down on her as Susan tries to fight her way out of her bedcovers.

"What do you want?" she hisses when she finally gets free.

Tracey Davis smiles. "C'mon, Susan! We're going on an adventure!"

Susan just stares at her. She's used to Tracey being flighty every now and again, and trying to draw everyone into her own world, but she has no idea what Susan could be talking about.

"It's the middle of the night!" Susan finally hisses. "Everyone's trying to sleep!"

"So?" Tracey asks normally. "This isn't any normal middle of the night."

"Keep your voice down!" Susan hisses.

"Don't have to," Tracey says. "See, we're in a weird adventure anomaly where nobody else can see or hear us, unless we have business with them."

Susan's mouth opens and closes several times. It takes her several seconds before she finally figures out what she wants to say.

"Tracey," Susan says normally. "Are you telling us that we've been turned into ghosts?"

Tracey thinks about it for a moment, then shrugs. "I guess you could say that. But really, we're _heroes_. For one day, at least."

Susan begins hyperventilating. "We're dead."

"No, we–"

"We're dead, on _Thanksgiving._ The _one_ day of the year where a woman can eat as much as she wants and nobody can say SHIT!"

"Susan–"

"I never got to tell my parents goodbye! And what about my little brother? He's gonna wonder why I never came home! Oh, Christ, and what about that chocolate bar I was saving for when I needed a pick-me up? I can't eat it now! I CAN'T EAT ANYTHING NOW! HOW AM I–"

Tracey slaps her across the face. Susan shuts her mouth and looks at her incredulously.

"What?" Tracey defends herself. "You were having a freakout. TV says a good slap is the best way to stop that."

Susan takes a few deep breaths. "You're right. I shouldn't freak out. I should just KILL YOU!"

Tracey's eyes widen. "What? No, I don't think–"

With a roar, Susan launches herself at Tracey and begins trying to hit her–an attempt made harder by the fact that Tracey is kicking at her wildly while shoving Susan's own pillow in her face. This goes on for a few minutes before Susan starts running out of energy, and eventually stops trying to hit Tracey.

"Are we done?" Tracey asks, panting.

"I...guess," Susan says, sounding exhausted. "I can't kill you anyway, seeing as you're a ghost too."

"Oh, we're not ghosts," Tracey says calmly.

Susan blinks. "What."

"We're not ghosts," Tracey repeats. "We're just incorporeal spirits, unobservable to everyone we don't have business with, on a mission to save Thanksgiving."

"What," Susan says flatly.

"Well I guess that's kind of like ghosts," Tracey admits. "Only, we're not dead, and it's only for tonight. Now c'mon!"

"What," Susan says flatly, getting up and following Tracey as she rushes out of the dorms.

"Now c'mon," Tracey says. "We have to find your friend. You know, that girl in Hufflepuff you eat lunch with every week."

"What," Susan says again.

"She's blonde, always flushed like she's just been running, in Hufflepuff, you two hang out like all the time–that girl," Tracey explains. "Do you know where we can find her?"

"Hannah?" Susan asks.

"Oh, is that her name?" Tracey asks. "Where is she?"

"Probably sleeping in the Hufflepuff dorms," Susan supplies. "Wait!"

Tracey doesn't heed her, instead increasing her speed. Susan rushes to catch up.

"Why are you bothering Hannah?" Susan demands.

"Well, we need three people for this," Tracey says.

"Why?" Susan asks incredulously.

"Because if it's only two people, then we have to do the hero and sidekick thing, and no offense, but you're too boring to be a sidekick," Tracey explains without slowing down. "But if there's three of us, then you two can both have conversations while following my lead and making sure that everything goes as planned."

Susan decides not to question this.

"So what are we going to do when we get Hannah, then?" Susan asks.

"We're going to destroy the ancient house elf recipe for Hawaiian pizza," Tracey says determinedly.

"What."

"Because Hawaiian pizza is evil, you see."

"What."

"A blight on mankind. It's because of the ham."

"What."

"Ham. It's horrible. And on pizza that already has pineapple? An affront to all mankind. And wizardkind, too."

"What."

"It's true! Haven't you ever had pineapple pizza?"

"No."

"Well it gets worse when ham is involved. It goes from delicious to absolutely horrible."

"That seems unrealistic."

"Well it's absolutely true. Don't put ham on your pineapple pizza."

"So wait," Susan says. "We're supposed to save pineapple pizza from ham?"

"That's absolutely right," Tracey agrees as they float into the Hufflepuff dorms.

"So you're saying that we were enlisted to fight the scourge of Hawaiian pizza?" Susan queries.

"That's right."

"That's ridiculous."

"Oh is it?" Tracey asks. "You know what else is ridiculous? A crew on a spaceship fighting off evil monsters and keeping peace throughout the galaxy. A time-traveling weirdo with superpowers saving the world and pretending to be a doctor despite never going to college. An evil villain making several copies of his soul that need to be destroyed. Barry Bonds having the career home run record!"

"What's your point?" Susan asks wearily.

"My point is that everything is ridiculous until you have to do something about it. Now WAKE UP, TRACEY'S FRIEND!"

Hannah springs up in her bed, shocked. "What? Huh? Enh?"

"That's not even a question," Tracey says calmly. "Now c'mon, we have to destroy Hawaiian pizza!"

"What."

"I'll explain on the way," Susan says, grabbing Hannah's arm and taking her along with them.

* * *

"...this makes no sense," Hannah says flatly.

"Just go with it," Tracey says. "We're all ghost-like beings. So now, we must destroy Hawaiian pizza!"

"That's ridiculous," Hannah says.

"Yeah," Susan agrees. "We should just go back to bed. No one can see us anyway."

"And let down whatever spirits gave us this gift and this duty?" Tracey asks incredulously. "No way!"

"Tracey," Hannah says. "You honestly believe that the spirits want us to perform a mission relating to ham-and-pineapple pizza?"

"Yes," Tracey says. "Now–"

The door to the kitchen slides open, revealing a house elf.

"Hello," the house elf says. "I've been expecting you."

"Good," Tracey says. "Then you know–"

"Yes," the house elf agrees. "I do."

The house elf brandishes a chainsaw and rushes at them.

"HOLY FUCK!" Hannah screams, diving one way. Susan dives the other, and Tracey just looks from side to side before trying to jump over the house elf. Unsurprisingly, she succeeds, as house elves are very short.

"WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?" Susan yells, climbing to her feet.

The house elf fixes its eyes on her. "LICIS WILL NOT PERMIT YOU TO STOP THE FEAST!"

"Wait, what?" Susan asks, looking at Tracey.

Tracey runs over and boots the house elf in the rear before it can charge Susan. The chainsaw goes flying and embeds itself in a portrait of an incredibly ugly old man.

* * *

In an Australian nightclub, an incredibly attractive young man shrieks and collapses on the bar. When he's pulled up from his position, the clubgoers are treated to a shock, as he has somehow transformed into an incredibly disgusting elderly corpse with the marks of a life of sin all over him.

* * *

"We have to eat the pineapples!" Tracey declares, running for the door.

"What?" Susan and Hannah echo, following her in.

They skid to a stop just inside the kitchen. Thirty house elves are waiting for them, all brandishing chainsaws.

"FUCK!" the trio of girls declare simultaneously.

The house elves rev their chainsaws. The three look around the kitchen wildly, hoping to find an escape. That's when Tracey's eyes alight on thirty pineapples.

"We have to eat the pineapples!" Tracey declares.

"WHAT?" Susan and Hannah ask, shocked.

"Ten each! Let's go!" Tracey says, running towards the pineapples.

"ARE YOU MAD?" the two other girls cry.

"We either eat them or shove them up our asses, so let's get to it!" Tracey says.

Tracey steps on several house elves as she sprints towards the pineapples. She grabs one and then notices an industrial size blender. She begins throwing the pineapples into the blender. Hannah and Susan rush over and follow her lead.

"NO!" the house elves scream. They march towards the girls, chainsaws in action.

When the last pineapple is in, Hannah slams down the liquify button. The house elves continue approaching.

"So, Tracey, any more bright ideas?" Susan asks sarcastically.

Tracey looks around. Seeing no other options, her face grows determined, and she picks up the blender.

"Tracey?" Susan asks nervously.

"RUN FOR IT!" Tracey yells.

She takes off, performing an end-around against the house elves, and her friends follow. The house elves give chase, but the girls slip out the kitchen door. Unfortunately, just before they do, the blender runs out of cord and is ripped from the wall. It grinds to a stop just after they enter the hallway, and the house elves pour out, looking for blood.

"TRACEY!" Susan screams, scared. "WHAT DO WE DO NOW?"

"We have to drink it," Tracey says calmly.

Hannah and Susan look at her as if she's insane. That's when Tracey rips the lid off the blender and tilts it into her mouth. She manages to swallow almost a third of the blended pineapple (high in pulp!) before coming up for air.

"I can't take any more," she gasps. "You two have to finish it."

"Are you nuts?" Hannah asks.

Tracey stuffs the blender into Susan's hands and falls to her knees. Seeing no harm, Susan gulps down as much pineapple as she can before handing the blender to Hannah.

"I don't even like pineapple!" Hannah complains.

The house elves continue to advance. Hannah gulps deeply, and then tips the container into her mouth. Slowly, the level of pineapple recedes until all that's left is the dregs. Once she finishes, Hannah drops the blender and falls to her hands and knees, wheezing heavily.

"Do what you want," she chokes out. "But it won't bring your pineapples back."

The house elves glare, but stop advancing and lay down their chainsaws. Then, as a group, they all head back to the kitchen to prepare for the now pineapple-free feast.

* * *

When the three girls are found outside the kitchen on Thanksgiving Day, they each lose ten points for their houses.

They also have to spend a lot of time on the toilet, since that much pineapple neither goes in nor comes out easy.

(Technically it's coming out easy, given that it's coming out as really watery diarrhea, but there's still an immense amount of it.)

So as they spend their Thanksgiving in stalls next to each other, they naturally converse on the significance of the pineapple.

"Why?" Hannah wails after a particularly large expulsion. "Why did you drag us down there to eat blended pineapples?"

"I told you," Tracey says. She gulps, but nothing happens. "We need to destroy Hawaiian pizza. It's a blight on the land."

"Not that I disagree with that–" Susan pauses midsentence for obvious and disgusting reasons. "–but WHY DOES THAT REQUIRE US TO BE ON THE TOILET?"

"Because if we didn't, the house elves would've mixed ham with pineapple," Tracey explains.

Hannah groans for multiple reasons. "Pineapples with ham is a tradition, Tracey."

"Even if it's a defilement of the pineapple," Susan says. "It still doesn't mean they were planning to serve Hawaiian pizza on Thanksgiving."

"But they do that every year!" Tracey explains. "Except for this one. Because they can't!"

"Fine, whatever," Hannah says. "But why do we need to get rid of Hawaiian pizza?"

"Oh, I was told by a magical spirit that we needed to extinguish it from the Earth," Tracey says. "But we can only do our work on Thanksgiving, when we turn into vengeful spirit-creature things that can only be perceived by those we have business with." She gives a courtesy flush. "But unfortunately, we didn't complete our mission to destroy the ancient house elf recipe for Hawaiian pizza."

"What," Hannah and Susan say flatly.

"Yeah," Tracey says. She lets out a deluge. "I guess we'll have to try again next year."

Susan and Hannah let out loud groans.


	26. It's Suddenly March

After Thanksgiving was over and done with, the author decided to skip ahead to March, since that was the next time that anything interesting was going to happen.

Yes, granted, there was that business with a giant woodland creature rave where all the deer and bears and bunnies and birds and hippopotamuses swarmed the school for an enormous house music festival in the middle of February, and several students were put into the infirmary as a result of raving too hard, raving not hard enough, or coming into close contact with people raging too hard or hyped-up hippopotamuses whose huge honking hooves made the floor and walls shake (or maybe that was just the booming bass that made the _hippos_ shake, but on purpose). Either way, most of the damage was cleaned up by the middle of March, with the only remnant being Albus's sulking in his office at being the fourth-best raver at the giant Hogwarts woodland creature rave.

"It should've been me," Albus says, hands still shaking from the amphetamines he'd consumed a month ago. "A bunny? A pigeon? A hippo? Ha! None parties harder than Albus!"

He pours himself a glass of water and drinks deeply.

"Although," he admits, smacking his lips, "that pigeon was pretty hype. And a hippo doing five kegstands at once _is_ hard to beat."

While the headmaster is coming down from his party high, a plot is being hatched in the first-year boys dormitory of the Gryffindor tower.

"Alright, Malfoy," Ron barks. "What've you got for me?"

Draco pushs his mirrored sunglasses up his nose. "Granger, Zabini, and Bulstrode, all in the library. I think they're going to make their move soon."

"But what move is it?" Ron muses. "Any ideas, Malfoy?"

Draco shakes his head. "I'm drawing a blank. Which is annoying, as I should be drawing the opposite of a blank."

"Right," Ron agrees. "We need to set up a sting operation, but where?"

"When did you two become junior detectives, anyway?" Theo asks.

"HOLY SHIT!" Ron and Draco yelp in unison, spinning around to look at him. "HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN HERE?"

Theo scowls at them. "It's Saturday. I was sleeping in until you woke me up with your whole wannabe cops thing."

Draco lowers his sunglasses to look at him forbiddingly. "You trying to threaten us, Nott?"

"Do I _look_ like Neville?" Theo asks sarcastically. "Just go somewhere else if you're gonna be amateur sleuths. I have some homework that I'd like to finish today so that my Sunday's free."

Draco returns his sunglasses so they cover his eyes. "I'm watching you."

"Perv," Theo returns.

And on that note, Draco and Ron exit the Gryffindor dorms.

"So who's good cop and who's bad cop this time?" Ron asks.

Draco stares at him. "I'm the one with the badass sunglasses. I'm obviously the bad cop."

"But I've got the red hair and the short fuse," Ron counters. "I should be the bad cop."

"Please," Draco scoffs. "You're about as threatening as a declawed kitten with really fluffy hair."

"Am not!" Ron shoots back. "I have claws!"

"Yeah, but they're, like, tiny. They're not going to rend any flesh."

"Well maybe I could rend a jugular and someone could bleed to death!"

"What, are they anemic?"

"Maybe! You don't know!"

"And how are you even going to get up to the jugular anyway?"

"...you could lift me up?"

Draco raised his sunglasses to look in Ron's eyes. "Face it, Weasley. I'm the bad cop, and you're the good cop." He dramatically returned his sunglasses to obscure his eyes. "Deal with it."

"Oh, I've dealt," Ron says. "But deal with this: I'm the bad cop here!"

"No, you're not," Draco says calmly.

"Are too!"

"Are not."

"Are too!"

"Are not!"

"Are too are too!"

"Are not."

"Are too times infinity and a half!"

"Half an infinity or half of one?"

"I'm not sure."

"Well, either way...you're not."

It's at that moment that they cross the threshold of the library, prepared to sneak up on Hermione and her friends. Unfortunately, Ron's loud are-toos outside have distracted most of the people in the library, and several students are staring at them as they enter, including their targets.

So, of course, the duo act as all Gryffindors would and stride up to Hermione's table.

"Granger," Draco says frostily. "We need to talk."

"It's nothing important," Ron says, also frosty. "We just have some questions we need answered."

"Yeah," Draco agrees. "We need them answered, now."

"So how about you cooperate," Ron says. "We wouldn't want to have to make a threat."

"Yeah," Draco says. "And then follow up on it."

"You do realize for good cop, bad cop to work one of you has to be the good cop, right?" Blaise asks.

Draco and Ron blink. "How did you know we were doing good cop bad cop?"

"Actually, it's more like incompetent cop, incompetent cop," Millicent says. "Also, you two are pretty obviously the Junior Detective club, and you've been trying to secretly follow us around since we came back to school."

"Because you're obviously up to something!" Draco says. "Duh!"

"Yeah, _studying_," Hermione says pointedly. "Something you two could stand to do more of."

"Nobody studies in January!" Ron says. "You're up to something, and we're going to find out what!"

"I study in January!" Hermione says offendedly. "Maybe you'd be doing better in class if you did!"

"We have respectable B- averages!" Draco shoots back. "And nobody looks at your grades before fifth year anyway!"

Hermione sniffs. "Good study habits now set the foundation for good study habits later."

"There's a difference between good habits and obsessive behavior," Millicent points out.

"I _said_ I'm _working_ on it," Hermione says testily. "_Blaise._"

Blaise raises his hands defensively. "I didn't say anything."

"Yes, but you wanted _her_ to say something," Hermione says.

"Wanting something and getting it are two different things," Blaise says.

"Well why can't we get what we want?" Ron interjects.

"What do you want?" Millicent asks.

"We want...information," Draco says dramatically.

"Information?" Blaise asks.

"Information," Ron intones.

"Who are you?" Hermione asks.

Everyone stares at her, confused.

"Oh, are we not doing that?" Hermione asks. "I thought we were doing that.

"Doing what?" Blaise asks.

"_The Prisoner_," Hermione says.

"Who's the prisoner?" Draco and Ron ask.

"It's an old TV show," Millicent says. "And we're not telling you anything!"

"Oh yeah?" Ron asks.

"Yeah!" Hermione says.

"Yeah?" Draco asks.

"Yeah!" Millicent says.

"They're trying to figure out what's in the third-floor corridor," Dudley says as he walks past.

Millicent, Hermione, and Blaise stare after him with looks of complete and utter befuddlement on their faces.

Ron claps his hands together. "So. The third-floor corridor, huh?"


	27. The Librarian Has A Shotgun

"We already know what's in the third-floor corridor," Blaise says smoothly. "Winnie, Kevin, and Paul."

Ron and Draco look confused.

"The three heads of the Cerberus," Millicent explains. "They all have different personalities."

Ron shakes his head. "You don't have to meet several times a month to discuss that."

"Probably because we're also _studying_," Hermione stresses.

"Yo," Neville says, taking a seat at the table. "I looked over those blueprints of the school, and that trapdoor was _not_ there last year. It's obviously new."

Draco's eyes widen. "Ha! I knew it!"

Neville glances over at them. "The fuck these bitches doing here?"

"Give it up, Neville," Draco says, grinning behind his sunglasses. "We know _everything._"

Neville blinks. "Including the part with your mother?"

Draco looks confused. "My mom?"

"Yeah," Neville says. "I fucked her."

Draco's mouth drops open.

"AND THEN I TOOK HER TO IHOP FOR BREAKFAST AFTERWARDS OHHHHHHH!"

The rest of the library joins in with a loud "OHHHHH" to acknowledge Neville's burn.

"You take that back, Neville Longbottom!" Draco yells with tears in his eyes. "You take that back! MY MOTHER WOULD NOT GO TO IHOP! EVER! YOU TAKE THAT BACK!"

This attracts the attention of Madam Pince.

"Bitch you wanna keep screaming?" she asks softly as she loads a shotgun. "Because I got something of my own that screams. And it'll make you scream. Scream loud. Scream sayonara." She cocks the shotgun. "Wanna get into a debate, bitch?"

It's at that point that Ron makes an executive decision to not piss off the shotgun-wielding librarian.

"We'll just be going now, then," he says in a normal tone of voice that totally gives away how scared he is. "Right, uh, Draco, let's go, bye!"

And with that, he grabs Draco's hand and drags him out of the library.

"You just do that, boy," Madam Pince's voice floats after them. "I'll be right here. All night. Just cleaning. This. Gun."

* * *

"Well that was a bust," Ron complains as he paces around their dorm room. "We didn't get them to tell us anything!"

"Yeah!" Draco agrees. "They weren't even intimidated by my awesome shades!"

"How are we gonna find out what they're up to now?" Ron asks. "We've gotta get that information!"

"Why?" Theo asks.

Draco and Ron stare at him.

"Have you been here this whole time?" Ron finally asks.

"Yes," Theo says.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Draco asks.

"Because you're not including me in whatever dumb shit you're trying to do."

"...do you..._want_ to be included?" Ron asks, visibly uncomfortable.

"Hell no," Theo says. "I just want you to leave so I can finish my homework in peace."

Draco and Ron look at each other and move to leave. Before they can, Draco stops at the door.

"Wait a minute," he says. "Neville's working with them, right?"

"Yeah?" Ron asks, pausing with him.

"So Neville would know what's going on there, right?" Draco guesses.

Ron shrugs. "I suppose. Why?"

"And who does Neville spend all his time hanging out with?"

Slowly, Ron and Draco turn back to Theo. They grin.

Theo doesn't even look up from his homework. "Nope. I don't know what's going on."

"Or do you?" Draco asks.

"I don't."

"Or do you?"

"No."

"Yes?"

"No."

"But maybe you do?"

"No."

"How can you not?" Ron interrupts. "You hang out with Neville like, all the time!"

"That's because you two are joined at the hip, which means the only other two people in Gryffindor that anybody cares about have to hang out together."

* * *

Percy takes a few deep breaths, staring at the sheaf of papers on his desk. It's just his final paper for the art class. After that he just has to paint something good enough for the teacher. But for now, this paper is all but done. He just has to read it over one last time. Just in case.

He steadies himself and reaches for the stack. As he picks up the first page and starts to read, a water balloon flies through the air and explodes onto his desk, ruining the papers he has on there.

"FRED! GEORGE!" Percy screams pusily. "YOU WRECKED MY PAPER!"

Fred and George hi-five. "PRANKED!"

"NOT PRANKED!" Percy yells pusily. "NOW I'LL HAVE TO GO INTO TOWN, TO THE LIBRARY, AND PRINT IT ALL OVER AGAIN! THAT'LL TAKE ME AT LEAST TWO HOURS! AND THEN I'LL HAVE TO READ THIS, AGAIN, AND EDIT IT, AGAIN, AND PRINT IT, AGAIN, AND MAYBE I WAS GOING TO DO MOST OF THAT ANYWAY BUT YOU'VE STILL COST ME TWO HOURS! YOU JERKS!"

Fred and George just hi-five each other again and run out of their older brother's dorm room.

* * *

"Well he's obviously told you what's going on!" Ron blusters.

"Nope," Theo says flatly.

"Well why not?" Draco asks.

"Because I ain't no snitch," Neville says from behind them.

Ron and Draco whirl around.

"Snitches be bitches," Neville continues. "And you twos is bitches, so you bitches probably be snitches. Stop snitching, snitch bitches."

"...what?" Ron and Draco say dumbly.

"Ain't no snitching in this bitch," Neville says. "Because snitch bitches get stitches."

"What," they say again.

"Y'all's better back off," Neville continues. "Because me and the boys gots business to take care of."

"...Hermione and Millicent are girls," Ron points out.

"Well ain't y'all some raggedy-ass terf motherfuckers," Neville says.

"Raggedy-ass terf motherfuckers?" Ron and Draco ask each other, completely confused.

"I tell you, I'm sick of looking at your bitch asses," Neville says. "Neville out!"

And with that, Neville leaves the Gryffindor dorms. Ron and Draco look at each other, confused, before turning back to Theo.

"Raggedy-ass terf motherfuckers?" they ask.

Theo doesn't stop reading his textbook. "I find it's better not to think about it."


	28. Greg And Vince Are Stupid

"Hey, Greg?"

"Yeah, Greg?"

"I'm Greg."

"I thought I was Vince."

"Am I Greg then?"

"Maybe I'm Greg."

"Then which one of us is Vince?"

"Maybe we're both Greg."

"Are you sure, Greg?"

"Maybe, Greg."

"Then how will we tell each other apart?"

"Well, I'm Greg, right?"

"Yeah, and I'm Greg!"

"So we're Greg!"

"I'm Greg, and you're Greg."

"Yes. I am."

"So what do we do now Greg?"

"I think we should have food."

"We just food had and they won't give us any more."

"That's not nice."

"Draco would give us food."

"I wonder where he is."

"I haven't seen him in the dorms."

"Maybe he's hiding."

"Maybe he's dead."

"Oh no! What'll we do about dead Draco?"

"If he's dead we should be too."

"But I don't wanna die, Vince!"

"Then let's don't die!"

"Don't dying!"

"Don't dying!"

"Yeah!"

"Yeah!"

"Yeah!"

"Where's Draco?"

"I think he didn't don't die."

"But Draco's really smart though right Vince?"

"Yeah."

"So shouldn't we also didn't don't die like he did?"

"How will we do a didn't don't die?"

"I dunno. Maybe we should ask Draco."

"Yeah. That way we can stop don't didn't don't dying."

"Maybe Draco wants us to figure it out ourselves though Greg?"

"But Greg, how are we supposed to do that?"

"Let's ask him!"

"Yeah, Vince! Let's ask him! Where is he?"

"I think he's hiding."

"Why's he hiding?"

"Maybe somebody wants to kill him."

"Oh no! We have to warn him about somebody wanting to kill him!"

"But first we have to find him to warn him about somebody wanting to kill him!"

"Yeah! Find Draco!"

"Yeah!"

"Yeah!"

"Yeah!"

"Yeah!"

"Yeah!"

"Where's Draco?"

"Maybe he's in the common room."

"But I haven't seen him in the common room."

"And I haven't seen him in the dorms."

"Maybe he's not hiding in Slytherin."

"Why wouldn't Draco be in Slytherin?"

"Yeah, he's supposed to be in Slytherin!"

"Draco has to be in Slytherin!"

"We've gotta find him!"

"Yeah!"

"Yeah!"

"Yeah!"

"Yeah!"

"Yeah!"

"Yeah!"

"Isn't that Draco?"

"It can't be, we're not in Slytherin."

"Yeah, and he's hiding in Slytherin."

"So that's not Draco."

"No, not Draco."

"Maybe he's somebody trying to be Draco?"

"Who could ever be Draco?"

"Draco could be Draco."

"Maybe that's Draco being Draco who's not Draco."

"But why would Draco being Draco who's not Draco be walking around with a Weasley?"

"Because Draco being Draco who's not Draco is bad at being Draco."

"Why would Draco being Draco who's not Draco be bad at being Draco?"

"Maybe Draco being bad at being Draco being Draco who's not Draco is Draco."

"Which one's Draco again?"

"I think Draco's the blond one."

"Let's go talk to the blond one!"

"But wait, the blond one's in Gryffindor."

"Draco's not in Gryffindor."

"Maybe he's undercover."

"Why's he undercover?"

"Probably needs more sleep."

"We should help him with that."

And with that, Crabbe and Goyle walk over to Neville Longbottom, whom they have decided is Draco Malfoy.

"Hi Draco!" Vince belts out loudly. "Can we help you sleep?"

Neville looks up and blinks a couple of times. "The fuck?"

"We wanna sleep with you, Draco!" Greg explains just as loudly.

Neville pales, with his countenance taking on the look of somebody who just realized he's going to vomit things he hasn't even eaten yet. Several feet away, Draco slaps his palm to his forehead, inadvertently attracting Neville's attention.

"Hey!" Neville barks. "Fuck outta here, cockbags! I told you snitch bitches no bitch snitching! Don't _make_ me get my chain! I'll use it on y'all!"

Draco takes this as his cue to leave. Ron does not until Neville takes a threatening step towards him–a step echoed by Vince and Greg.

"Okay," Ron says awkwardly. "I'm just gonna, uh...bye."

And with that, Ron takes off after Draco.

Neville looks at Vince and Greg. "You know, you guys make for some decent muscle. Wanna roll in my posse?"


	29. Exams Approach Like Lemurs

Argus Filch bursts into the teachers' lounge, panting and sweaty. "Sorry I'm late!" He looks at the gathered teachers. "Wait, you're here."

Hagrid grins. "Hi Argus!"

Argus turns back to the unbroken door, then to Hagrid again, then to the door again, then to Hagrid. "Did you get in without breaking the door?"

Hagrid's grin grows wider. "Yeah."

"How did you do that?" he asks, befuddled.

Hagrid shrugs, still grinning. "Not sure."

"But that defies the laws of physics!"

Hagrid gains a contemplative look. "I guess that explains how I got in, then."

"By defying the laws of physics?"

"Apparently."

Dumbledore clears his throat. "If we can please move past the implausibility of Hagrid appearing in this room without destroying the entryway, we have things to discuss."

"What things?" Pomona grouses. "It's the end of the year, exams are coming up, and nobody gives a _fuck_ about anything except getting through them."

"Loathe as I am to agree with Pomona, she has a point," Snape says. "It's just finals. What else might we have to consider?"

"Yes," MAN RAY BITCH agrees. "I'm simply waiting for my students to turn in their final projects."

"So let's get back to the topic at hand," Filch says. "Good job not breaking the door, Hagrid! I'd hi-five you, but you'd probably break my arm."

Hagrid chuckles. "Yeah..." his face grows serious. "Yeah, I would."

"Across-the-room hi-five?" Argus suggests, making the gesture.

Hagrid returns it. "Across-the-room hi-five."

"Great," Snape drawls. "Now, is there anything else or are you just here to waste my time?"

Dumbledore sighs. "Severus, would it kill you to cheer up?"

"Yes."

"Yes."

"Yes."

"Yes."

Snape glares at his fellow teachers. "I hate you all."

"It's true, though," Flitwick points out. "You HATE cheering up."

"He does?" Squirrel asks. "I didn't know that." He scratches himself absentmindedly.

"Well actually, we're here to discuss how our new crop of students is doing," Dumbledore explains. "Professor Squirrel, you have the floor."

Squirrel nods absentmindedly. "It's a nice floor."

The other teachers wait the obligatory fifteen seconds for him to say something before resuming their conversation.

"Anyway, Pomona–" Dumbledore starts to say.

"What's it taste like?" Squirrel asks.

The other teachers stare at him.

"What," Snape says flatly.

"The floor," Squirrel says.

"Like the shattered dreams of thousands of educators," Snape says. "What else would it taste like?"

Squirrel nods slowly and scratches his neck. "Ima eat it."

Snape blinks a couple of times. "Don't eat the floor."

"Ima eat the floor."

"Don't eat the floor."

"I'm eating it."

"Don't–"

And it's at that point that Squirrel drops onto his belly and begins gnawing on the carpet.

"...should we stop him?" MAN RAY BITCH eventually asks.

"No," Sprout says flatly. "Fuck him."

"Very well," Dumbledore agrees. "Pomona, your badgers–"

"FUCK them," Pomona Sprout says. "I don't give a FUCK what happens to any of those little shits. I know that, you know that, whole world knows that, fuck off."

Dumbledore nods. "Very well. So, Severus, are there any problems with your baby snakes?"

"Crabbe and Goyle are morons," Snape says flatly. "And lord help us all, they're in Neville's posse."

"Neville has a posse?" Sprout asks, astounded.

"Yes," Snape says. "And they all suck at Potions."

Sprout waves him off. "Irrelevant. That Longbottom kid sucks at pretty much everything."

"He does indeed," Dumbledore agrees. "Most curious that you would claim he has a posse then, Severus."

"Neville does hang out with those two," Minerva acknowledges. "Although I don't know that I'd call them a posse..."

"They pretty much are," Madam Hooch says.

Sprout slams her fist on the table. "That's just not right!"

"Well, I don't know that I'd say that–" McGonagall tries to intervene.

"_Neville Longbottom_ has a fucking _posse?_" Sprout complains. "He's a total pussy!"

Filch opens his mouth, presumably to defend his cat's honor, but can't get anything out before Sprout steamrolls over him.

"Pussies don't have posses!" she rants. "If anyone should have a posse here, it's me! I'm no pussy! Except when it comes to _my_ pussy, which is EXQUISITE!"

"Congratulations," Snape says sarcastically.

"Why thank you," Pomona says pleasantly. "ALTHOUGH THERE'S NO WAY I'M LETTING YOUR UGLY ASS IN, SO YOU CAN JUST FORGET IT SNAPE!"

Snape pinches the bridge of his nose. "Right. Well–"

"Why don't _I_ have a posse?" Pomona asks angrily. "Huh? Huh? I'm the baddest bitch here! If anyone should be posseing around this school, it's me!"

"You don't have a posse because nobody likes you," Dumbledore interjects. "You're rude, mean, cruel, bitchy, and a complete asshole to everyone. At least Snape's only _mostly_ an asshole to _most_ people."

"Yeah well I'm hell of a lot more awesome than Neville _Longbottom!_" Pomona responds. "There's something freaky going on here, and I guarantee you, I'm going to get to the bottom of it."

Snape smirks. "Don't you mean...the _Long_bottom of–"

"FUCK YOU, SNAPE!" Sprout yells. "FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU!"

Snape raises an eyebrow. "I'm getting mixed messages here."

Sprout glares at him.

"You know, seeing as how you told me you'd never sleep with me no matter what. I'm kind of wondering what you really think."

Sprout continues to glare, and an awkward silence descends on the room.

"Did you really have to put that image in our heads?" Dumbledore finally asks.

Snape looks remorseful. "I regretted it the moment I said it."

"So did we all, Severus," Dumbledore says, trying to sound wise. "So did we all."

"So..." McGonagall leads. "Does anyone want to hear about the Gryffindors?"

"No."

"No."

"No."

"No."

"God no."

"FUCK the Gryffindors."

"No."

"No."

"Perhaps."

"No."

"No."

"Oh, yes!" Albus says gleefully. "Tell me all about the Gryffindors!"

"Can we leave?" Snape asks, annoyed.

Dumbledore waves him off. "Sure, sure, whatever. Now, Minerva, about those Gryffindors..."

And so, most of the teachers file out of the room, only leaving behind McGonagall, who is telling the tales of Gryffindors; Dumbledore, who is enraptured by her tales of Gryffindors; MAN RAY BITCH, who is too polite to leave; and Professor Squirrel, who is eating the carpet.


	30. The Author Becomes Inebriated

Suddenly, it's almost time for exams.

Really? That's what you're going with?

What? It IS almost time for exams.

No lead in. Nothing happening in between. Just "time for exams."

Yes.

Wow. That is some SHITTY writing.

Fuck you, Seymour.

You know, that did actually happen.

...wait what.

In another story. I had sex. With the giant snake in the basement.

Oh yeah, I read that!

And are you not ashamed?

If I had any sense of shame, I wouldn't be writing this.

...see, I want to disagree, but you're absolutely correct on that count.

So anyway, it's almost time for exams. And, naturally, Hermione is freaking the fuck out.

Boo!

What?

Freaking the fuck out? Lame!

...is this your attempt at being the narrator again?

Here's your attempt at being the narrator: So lame. I am so lame. The Sorting Hat is much cooler than me, and it's just a piece of clothing. But that's okay, because all my clothing is much cooler than me. I should just go kill myself.

I–

God, you're so boring. Just, SO boring. Do you actually think you're smart? Or funny? Or interesting?

Well I–

Because you claim you're not in every way possible in this story. I mean, you're writing passages where the entire point of them is for your authorship to be insulted! But you know what, buddy?

JUST BECAUSE YOU ADMIT YOU SUCK DOESN'T MAKE YOU SUCK LESS.

That's the big secret, the thing you don't want to admit. That even if you point out you suck, well, that's not going to make anybody like you more. In fact, all it does is point out that you're wholly and utterly a piece of shit, because you're doing something you KNOW you're bad at and expecting people to love you for it!

If you suck at something, you should stop doing it. And you know what? You've never gotten that memo. You've continued to do stuff even when people warn you off of it gently, just nicely pointing out that maybe you're not that good, you're not that talented, no this isn't a good idea...no, you just keep on doing it anyway. And here we are today, you writing crappy fanfiction that nobody wants to read, but oh wait! You've noticed that you're not writing the most popular stuff in the world! It's decidedly third-tier when compared with everyone else's writing! But hey, there's an easy way around that, just admit you suck and maybe people will laugh at that.

You're not funny.

You're not smart.

You're not interesting.

And worst of all, you're not entertaining.

That's right. You're BORING.

You bore me. You bore your readers. You bore YOURSELF, which is why you constantly procrastinate on this story. On all your stories, really. And no, admitting you're boring doesn't make it better. In fact, it actually makes it worse, because then it can't be written off as 'oh, well, it's a young writer, they stand a chance of improving'...no. When you ADMIT you suck, you're complacent. You're apathetic. You're perfectly fine with it.

And you're never going to try and get better.

So yeah. Go fuck yourself. Seymour out.

...

...

...

...is he gone?

...

...

...

Uh. Okay then.

Ahem.

I had...well. Time to drown my sorrows in alcohol.

* * *

I'm back, and my sadness is masked with mood-altering substances. By which I mean peppermint schnapps. Which are cheap and get me drunk fast, so, y'know. A good deal all around. Except for my liver.

Anyway, when we last left off it was almost time for exams, and Hermione was freaking the fuck out...yeah, that is a crappy set of words. Yeesh. She was freaking out. Which she does. On a regular basis. When it comes to schoolwork.

"Hermione," Millicent says calmly. "You need to calm down. We're all prepared for the finals."

"Yeah," Blaise agrees. "Besides, everyone knows that none of this matters until fifth year. And then we just have to pass the standardized tests."

Hermione stares at them. "And it doesn't worry you that instead of actually teaching the material, the teachers will teach to the test with no regards for whether we actually learn anything or not?"

"To be fair, they wouldn't care if we actually learned anything in the first place," Millicent points out. "Standardized testing at least provides a baseline to find out whether children are retaining any information in the classroom and allows for a reasonably clear assessment of scholastic progress."

"It also interferes with allowing children to learn by forcing them to learn a set amount of information, often curated to reflect the viewpoint of the most powerful groups in society, and focus only on that instead of exploring more topics in more depth," Hermione shoots back.

Blaise groans. "Are we really going to have a debate over educational policy _now_?"

"Yes!" Hermione and Millicent say.

Blaise stands up. "Fine. I didn't want to do this."

"Do what?" Hermione asks.

"In fact, I got up this morning and said 'self,' I said, 'self, I really don't want to have to do this. Self, please don't do this. If Hermione and Millicent start doing a thing, self, just go along. Don't do this.' But gosh darn it, it's time! So, I'm going to do this. Even though I really don't want to."

"Do what?" Hermione asks again.

Blaise grins. "It's Thursday afternoon, right?"

"Right..." Millicent allows.

"Well, on Friday night, we're going under the trapdoor and seeing what's down there!"

Hermione gapes at him.

"That's right!" Blaise declares. "Once and for all, we're going to find out what's going on!"

Hermione continues to gape at him.

Blaise blinks. "Hermione? You okay?"

Hermione gapes.

"Uh, you might want to close your mouth. A moth could fly in there and–"

"ARE YOU INSANE?" Hermione yelps.

Blaise looks affronted. "No! Moths occasionally fly into cavernous spaces, such as your mouth, and then it might poop on your tongue, and that's just gross."

"Not that!" Hermione says. "Are you nuts? Now? We have exams coming up!"

Blaise rolls his eyes. "Exactly. And you're going to freak out over them for the rest of the weekend, not sleep at all on Sunday, and then try to do your exams while completely exhausted and get worse grades than you would have otherwise."

"That's not true!" Hermione says, offended.

Blaise and Millicent give her a Look.

"That's only partially true!" Hermione corrects herself.

Blaise and Millicent give her another Look.

"That may be true but that's not the issue!" Hermione says.

"Uh, yes it is," Blaise points out. "If we do it on Friday night, we'll probably finish early on Saturday morning, you'll collapse into bed and actually sleep, then you'll get up at like midnight, and then you'll be able to get a good night's rest on Sunday night because your internal clock is out of whack enough to let you fall asleep then, and then you'll be fully rested when exams do come along."

"SLEEP CYCLES DO NOT WORK LIKE THAT!" Hermione protests.

Millicent shrugs. "I dunno. That checks out pretty clean to me."

"Then it's settled!" Blaise declares. "Spread the word around, Millicent!"

Millicent looks doubtful. "Are you sure we should bring Neville? He's...really annoying."

"Plus he's been hanging around with those two idiots from Slytherin," Hermione points out.

Blaise looks disappointed. "Hermione. We're in the friendship house. We don't get rid of our friends just because we don't like their friends. Our lovers, sure, but not our friends."

"...what?" Hermione asks, confused.

"If you wanna be our lovers, you gotta get with our friends!" Blaise sings. "Make it last forever, friendship never ends!"

"Didn't they break up because the friendship between the members turned into a toxic pond of mutual loathing?" Millicent asks.

"Not the issue!" Blaise says. "We're going on Friday night!"

"Fine," Millicent says. "I'll tell Neville. But if this backfires horribly on us, I reserve the right to do the I-Told-You-So song and dance."

"Oh, don't worry," Blaise says smugly. "This'll backfire on us horribly for completely different reasons."

"That does not fill me with confidence," Hermione says flatly.


	31. Preparations Are Made

**Preparation M**

Millicent walks up behind Neville as the Gryffindors leave dinner on Thursday and taps him on the shoulder. Neville turns around.

"Yo, what's up?" he asks.

"Tomorrow night," Millicent says. "Third floor corridor, ten o'clock. Don't be late."

"With me, there's no such thing as late," Neville says. "Because everyone knows the party don't start until I arrive!"

Millicent rolls her eyes and walks away.

* * *

**Preparation D**

Behind them, an unseen Draco grins. He knows that he and Ron have been presented with all the information they need to get the drop on them: a location, a time, and even...well, okay, they don't know what's going on, but it's something! He just has to tell Ron and get them in position.

Wait, when _did_ he and Ron become the Junior Detective Club, anyway? Their parents are mortal enemies! For all time, even!

Well, whatever. He just has to find Ron and tell him someplace nobody can hear them, and then they'll totally be able to figure out what the Hufflepuffs and Neville are up to!

* * *

**Preparation B**

After he finishes up his morning preparations on Friday, Blaise stares at his reflection for a few seconds.

"Sorry, self," he softly says to the mirror image. "It had to be done."

* * *

**Preparation V**

A note lands on Crabbe's desk in the middle of History of Magic. Vince, being oblivious, does not notice it. His neighbor does.

"Hey Vince, what's that?" Greg asks.

Vince looks down and frowns. "It looks like a piece of paper."

"But that's not your paper."

"No. Whose paper is it?"

"Maybe somebody dropped it."

"Who do you think dropped it?"

"Maybe it was Draco."

"Should we ask him?"

"He looks busy."

"Maybe he is busy."

"Should we be busy?"

"Doing what?"

"Figuring out this paper."

"Why's it folded up?"

"Maybe there's candy inside!"

"What kind of candy?"

"I dunno."

"I hope it's a Snickers."

"I hope it's two Snickers!"

"I hope it's five hundred Snickers and a Milky Way!"

"Open it! Open it! Open it! Open it!"

Mr. Binns clears his throat, and the two look up to see the ghost looming over them.

"Mr. Crabbe, Mr. Goyle," he says. "What has you two so distracted in my class?"

Vince points at the paper on his desk. "We got this paper. There's probably candy inside!"

Mr. Binns wrinkles his nonexistent brow, picks up the piece of paper, and unfurls it.

"No candy in here," he declares. "I guess there's only one thing I can do."

The class watches with bated breath as he folds it into an origami goat with wings that proceeds to fly around the classroom.

"Now, let's get back to the lesson!" Mr. Binns declares. "As I was saying before Mr. Goyle and Mr. Crabbe got distracted by that strange piece of paper, the family is forced to take Sue Ellen's drinking problem seriously for the first time when she ends up in a detox ward, and after some deliberation they decide to try and make sure that she actually gets sober instead of attempting to sweep it under the rug again–an unusual action for the Ewings, but one that..."

* * *

**Preparation R**

After Potions, Draco grabs Ron from behind and pulls him into an empty classroom. Ron, who was not expecting this, flails at him.

"What the heck, Draco!" he complains, brushing himself off. "What the heck!"

"Big news, Ron," Draco says, slipping his sunglasses on. "We've got a lead."

Ron instantly stops being annoyed. "We do? When and where?"

"Ten o'clock tonight, third-floor corridor," Draco says.

Ron frowns. "Which one?"

"Which what?" Draco asks.

"Which third-floor corridor?"

Draco shuts his eyes, annoyed.

"Because there's more than one," Ron unhelpfully explains.

"I know that!" Draco snaps. "Fine. We'll just have to follow Neville when he leaves."

"What if Bulstrode sees us?" Ron asks.

Draco glares. "How about instead of shooting holes in my ideas, you come up with one yourself? Gah! We'll just follow Neville!"

* * *

**Preparation G**

It's lunchtime when another piece of paper lands on Gregory Goyle's plate.

He doesn't notice, and just eats it.

* * *

**Preparation Z**

Zacharias Smith glares at Blaise Zabini from across the Charms classroom.

"What are you hiding, Zabini?" he mutters angrily. "What are you hiding?"

"I think it has something to do with the giant three-headed dog in the third-floor corridor," Dudley says absentmindedly. "Why do you care, anyway?"

Zach turns his glare on Dudley. "Nobody pays attention to me!"

"Uh-huh," Dudley says, still focused on his Floating Disk spell. "So what?"

"So I'm Zacharias Smith!" Zach proclaims. "I could have gone to Eton! Or some other fancy British school! But instead I'm here, and nobody's paying attention to me!"

Flitwick wanders up to them with a smile on his face. "Pardon me, I couldn't help but notice you two were having some trouble–"

"Go away!" Zach snaps at him. "Nobody likes you! Leave us alone!"

Filius bursts into tears and runs out of the room. "NOBODY UNDERSTANDS ME!"

* * *

**Preparation N**

Neville takes a deep breath. His first two attempts to contact his homies without attracting attention may have failed, but he'll get it right this time. He just has to land the piece of paper in either Greg or Vince's hair, then get one of them to notice it, then get one of them to read it, then get them both to comprehend it. That's possible, right?

Well, the landing of the paper is at least possible.

He tosses the ball of paper. It lands in between Greg and Vince.

"Hey, look Vince," Vince says. "It's another piece of paper."

"But the last one didn't have candy," Greg points out.

"Maybe this one will."

"You think so?"

"Maybe. Should we try it?"

"I dunno, what if there's no candy inside?"

"That'd be bad."

"What'd be good?"

"TV."

"And not going to school."

"And tacos."

"Is it taco day?"

"I think that's Friday."

"Yeah, yeah. Friday night."

"Friday night, tacos!"

"Friday night tacos!"

"Frini tacos!"

"Frinita!"

"Frinita!"

"Frinita!"

"Frinita!"

"Oh for god's sake!" Daphne interrupts. "Let me see that!"

She snatches the ball of paper, unfurls it, and reads it. As soon as she's done, she slams her palm into her forehead, annoyed by what she's just read.

Greg and Vince merely laugh.

* * *

**Preparation H**

Hermione looks up from her book and takes a deep breath. It's time for her to go.

And right on cue, Blaise is at the entrance to the library, waving to her with a huge grin on his face.

She shuts the book.


	32. Everyone Gets Together

"Hey, Greg?"

"Yeah, Vince?"

"Where's Delphine taking us?"

"It's _Daphne,_" Daphne stresses. "Not Delphine! And _you're_ Vince, and _he's_ Greg! How the hell do you two not manage to keep anyone's names straight?"

Greg and Vince shrug. "Where are we going?"

"The stupid convention," Daphne responds blithely. "You two are the star attractions."

Greg and Vince grin and continue to follow her. They round a corner and come upon a gathering of people.

"Hey!" Hermione complains. "What are you doing here?"

"Uh, we were invited," Daphne points out.

"By who?" Hermione asks angrily.

Daphne shrugs. "Beats me. I got the invitation out of his hair." She points at Greg, who nods and smiles proudly.

"Neville!" Hermione curses.

"Oh well," Blaise says cheerily. "The more the merrier."

Millicent gives him a Look. "Really, Blaise? You really want these two tagging along?"

"Well, I mean, it's not like we can just leave Neville behind," Blaise says. "And if he comes, these two are going to come."

"So can I go back to bed then?" Daphne asks.

"Nope!" Blaise says, grinning. "You're involved now, no going back!"

"Great," Daphne says sourly.

It's at that point that a pudgy blonde comes around the opposite corner.

"Yo yo, bitches!" Neville says cockily. "I'm here, we can get the party started now!"

"Good," Millicent says. "Neville's here now, is that everyone?"

"Yeah," Blaise says. "Let's get going."

"Not so fast!" two voices loudly declare.

As the gathered students watch, Ron and Draco come around the corner, breathing heavily.

"Ha!" they both yell. "We knew something was going on!"

The six adventurers and Daphne all look at each other.

"Crabbe. Goyle," Neville says commandingly.

"Yeah?" they both respond.

"Get 'em."

The giant duo don't have to be told twice as they advance on Ron and Draco.

"Whoa!" Draco yells, scared. "Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! You guys don't wanna hurt me!"

"Uh, yeah we do," Greg says. "Draco told us so."

"No he didn't!" Draco says. "I'm Draco!"

"No you're not," Vince says. "He's Draco."

"No, _I'm_ Draco!" Draco protests.

The duo look at him, puzzled.

"I don't think so," Vince says. "Draco's blonde."

"Yeah, your hair's white," Greg agrees.

"And besides, Draco's in Slytherin," Vince says. "You're in Gryffindor."

Draco points at Neville. "I thought you said _he_ was Draco!"

"Yeah," Greg agrees. "Draco is Draco."

"But he's in Gryffindor!" Draco protests.

"No," Greg says. "He's pretending to be in Gryffindor."

"Yeah," Vince agrees. "Draco would never get sorted into Gryffindor."

"But I did!" Draco protests. "And he did! And he's not even me!"

"Uh, yeah," Greg points out. "Because he's in Slytherin."

"THEN WHY IS HE A GRYFFINDOR?" Draco screeches.

"Because he's spying," Vince says.

"SPYING ON WHAT?" Draco continues to screech. "WHAT COULD HE POSSIBLY HOPE TO FIND IN GRYFFINDOR?"

Millicent stares them down. "Really. You two, who have been sticking your noses into everyone's business, _especially_ in Gryffindor, wonder why anyone would do that."

"NEVILLE!" Draco howls. "CALL THEM OFF! CALL THEM OFF!"

"Who's Neville?" Neville asks.

"YOU ARE!" Draco and Ron yell.

Neville shrugs. "They don't seem to think so."

Greg pounds his fist into his palm. "It's clobbering time."

"What's a clobbering?" Vince asks.

"I think he makes shoes," Greg says.

"But I thought a clobbler was a pie," Vince says.

"Maybe it's a pie made out of shoes."

"A shoe pie?"

"Can our shoes make a pie?"

"I dunno. What do shoes taste like?"

"I think like feet."

"But what do feet taste like?"

"I dunno. Hey Draco!"

"What?" Draco and Neville both snap.

"What's the taste of defeat?" Greg asks.

"That's not important," Hermione says. "Now pound them!"

"Yeah!" Neville agrees. "Pound their asses!"

"No!" Ron interrupts. "Don't pound our asses!"

"It's ass-pounding time!" Greg declares.

"Yeah! We're gonna pound your asses!" Vince agrees.

"So hard!" Greg confirms.

"Your asses will never be the same after we're done pounding them!"

"But I don't want my ass pounded!" Ron whines.

"Yeah!" Draco agrees. "Don't pound his ass!"

"Too late!" Neville says gleefully. "You're in for the ass-pounding of a lifetime!"

"Ohhhh myyyy," a voice says.

Everybody stops and looks at the source of the voice.

"I'm sorry," Blaise says, "but uh, who are you?"

"Oh, I'm the ghost of George Takei," the ghost of George Takei says.

Millicent frowns. "But George Takei's not dead yet."

The ghost of George Takei waves her off. "I'm from the future."

"...that makes even _less_ sense than usual," Hermione points out.

The ghost of George Takei sighs. "Can we just get to the ass-pounding, please?"

"What's this about an ass-pounding?" a familiar voice asks.

"OH COME ON!" Hermione complains. "IS _EVERYONE_ JUST GOING TO SHOW UP FOR THIS?"

It's at that point that Professor Binns floats in.

"Hey hey, assholes, it's everyone's favorite professor." He blinks. "George? What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I heard there was an ass-pounding," the ghost of George Takei explains.

Professor Binns surveys the students before frowning and turning to the ghost of George Takei.

"George," he says seriously. "They're _eleven._"

The ghost of George Takei's jaw drops.

"Ohhhh," he says. "_Bye._"

And with that, the ghosts of George Takei and Professor Binns float off.

"Well," Blaise finally says. "If there are no more interruptions–"

"I have an interruption!" Hermione interrupts. "Professor. Squirrel. WHY ARE YOU HERE?"

Professor Squirrel scratches his neck. "Doing rounds. Catching students. Taking a dook on Filch's doorstep. You know, the usual."

The students gape at him. Squirrel's hand wanders down towards his chest.

"I'm sorry," Neville says, perfectly calm and polite. "Did you just say you took a dook on Filch's doorstep?"

"Yeah," Squirrel says.

"YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!" Blaise erupts. "YOU FUCKING, FUCKING ASSHOLE!"

Squirrel looks confused.

"Yeah!" Hermione agrees. "He busts his hump to keep this school clean, and you repay him by pinching a loaf on his welcome mat?"

"That's BULLSHIT!" Millicent agrees. "WHY would you do something so, so, so SHITHEADED?"

"YOU'RE A REAL PRICK, YOU KNOW THAT?" Blaise adds. "A REAL, REAL PRICK!"

"AND you're a crappy professor!" Ron intercedes.

"That too!" Neville agrees. "The fuck's wrong with you?"

"Dipshit!"

"Douchebag!"

"Cockmonger!"

"Scoundrel!"

"Anal fistula!"

"Dickface!"

"Shitrooster!"

"Hey!" Squirrel complains. "When you gotta go, you gotta go!"

"NOT ON SOMEONE'S DOORSTEP!" Blaise yells. "THAT'S BASIC HUMAN DECENCY!"

Professor Squirrel scratches his arm. "Oh. Okay. So what are you all up to?"

"None of your business!" Ron spits.

"Oh," Professor Squirrel says. He stares off into the distance for a few seconds. "Well, if it's nothing important, I suppose I can just send you all to bed."

Everybody gapes at him.

"Did he just suddenly turn _smart_?" Millicent asks, flabbergasted.

"No," Blaise says, shaking his head in disbelief. "No, no it can't be. He just got lucky or something."

"You know what? Screw it," Draco says, stepping past Greg and Vince. "You can come along, professor. After all, we need a chaperone if we're going to do...whatever it is we're doing."

"Are you NUTS?" Hermione asks angrily. "You can't just–"

"Sure," Professor Squirrel says, scratching his neck. "I'll come along."


	33. An Obstacle Course Is Faced

Tension crackles throughout the group as Blaise pushes the door open. Hermione is glaring at Ron, Draco, and Professor Squirrel intermittently, angry that they'd weaseled their way into tonight's plans and also because Professor Squirrel is a crappy teacher who has apparently been bullying Argus Filch. Draco is glaring at Neville, angry that the blonde had managed to steal his henchmen away from him, while Ron is glaring at Neville for not letting them in on whatever was happening even though they live in the same dorm. Neville is glaring at Draco and Ron for having followed him without him noticing. Millicent is glaring at Professor Squirrel for being such a douchebag, and at Greg and Vince for joining their group even though they're total morons. Vince and Greg aren't glaring at anybody, choosing instead to just stand around with stupid looks on their faces. Professor Squirrel is absentmindedly scratching himself. Daphne is glaring at everyone for dragging her into this mess. And Blaise is glaring at the room, which has miraculously filled itself with corn.

"Damnit, I chose the wrong door again!" he complains.

Blaise yanks the door shut and storms over to the next room over, where he pulls the door open. They're greeted by loud barking which swiftly quiets when the Cerebus heads recognize Blaise.

"Blaise!" Winnie yips.

"Hi Blaise!" Kevin joins in.

"Hi!" Paul says.

The heads all approach for pets and nuzzles, which Blaise happily gives as the rest of their group files in. As the last few enter, the trio start to pay attention to the newcomers.

"So what's all this then?" Paul asks, interested.

"Oh, these are some friends of ours–" Blaise starts to say.

"We're here for the treasure," Millicent interrupts.

The Cerebus draws back, affronted.

"Excuse me?" Winnie asks.

"Are you serious?" Paul says at the same time.

"No way!" Kevin exclaims simultaneously.

The group looks confused. This is a normal reaction when three Cerebus heads say three different things all at the same time.

"You! Shall! Not! Pass!" Paul declares. He chuckles. "I always wanted to say that."

"Nerd," Winnie ribs him gently.

"Aw, c'mon," Blaise says. "Please? Just let us by?"

"No!" Kevin declares. "And there's nothing you can do to change our minds!"

"Are you sure?" Ron asks. "There's _nothing_ we can do?"

"Nothing at all?" Draco adds.

Hermione glares at them. "What do you care? You're not even part of this group!"

"Well, they kind of are now," Blaise points out. Hermione turns her glare on him, and he puts his hands up defensively. "I'm just saying!"

"Well..." Winnie drawls.

"Oh no," Kevin says.

"I suppose there is one thing..." Winnie continues.

"No no no," Kevin dissuades her.

"I mean, if you think you can.. ." Winnie continues.

"No!" Kevin says. "No! No! NO!"

"It's part of the Cerebus code, Kevin!" Winnie protests. "If they do it, we have to fulfill their request!"

"But that doesn't mean you have to _tell_ them about it!" Kevin complains.

"Tell us about what?" Millicent asks.

"Well, you see–" Winnie starts.

"C'mon, Winnie!" Paul whines. "I did the You Shall Not Pass thing and everything!"

"Well then you're just going to have to un-do it," Winnie says. She draws herself up, attempting to look more regal than her two compatriots. "If any of you can dazzle us with an amazing display of skill, we'll fulfill any request. Even if it means you want to go down in the basement."

"The basement?" Draco blurts out. "I don't wanna go down to the basement!"

Blaise doesn't look at him. He just nods at the Cerberus.

"Fine. Give us a moment?"

"Take your time," Paul says.

And with that, they lie down and rest their heads on their paws.

"Alright!" Blaise calls to everyone there. "Huddle up!"

Amazingly, everyone obeys him, even Professor Squirrel.

"Okay," Blaise says. "Does anyone have some special skill that they're really good at?"

"I can jack a car!" Professor Squirrel pipes up.

Everyone stares at him. Blaise's mouth opens and closes a few times.

"Okay," Blaise says as calmly as he can manage. "Leaving aside the fact that that's not really a skill you want to brag about, there aren't any cars here for you to jack."

"Oh," Professor Squirrel says. "Well, uh, maybe I could get one, and bring it here, and then show them my carjacking skills!"

"...how would you even fit it in the door?" Hermione asks, flabbergasted.

"I don't think that's really the big issue here," Blaise points out.

"Maybe it's not _the_ issue, but it's an issue!" Hermione complains. "It's an issue!"

"What if I turned it on its side?" Professor Squirrel asks. "Maybe then it could fit?"

"...and now I'm wondering how you would get it on its side," Blaise says. He shakes his head. "Why are we still discussing this?"

"Well, maybe I could–"

"Forget it!" Millicent interrupts. "He's out of the question. Hermione, you're out–"

"Wait, why?" Hermione interrupts.

Millicent levels her with an unimpressed stare. "You maybe the smartest person at this school, but your skills are more academic, less...what's the word I'm looking for?"

"Performative?" Hermione guesses.

"Exactly," Millicent says. "And you knowing that just proves my point. Draco?"

Draco crosses his arms smugly. "I'm rich."

"That's not a skill, that's an attribute," Millicent says. "How about you, Ron?"

"I can play chess," Ron says.

"Are there any chessboards around here?" Millicent asks.

Ron's face falls. "No."

"Crap," Millicent says. "Fine. Crabbe, Goyle...yeah, no. Blaise?"

"My thing's table hockey," Blaise says. "You should know that, with how frequently we've played."

"Wait wait wait," Ron interrupts. "When the hell have you two played table hockey?"

Blaise rolls his eyes. "Like all the time. There's a table in the Hufflepuff common room."

"They let you into the Hufflepuff common room?" Ron and Draco both blurt out.

Millicent looks at them oddly. "Uh, yeah?"

"But we're not allowed in each other's common rooms!" Draco and Ron say, shocked.

"Uh, yeah we are," Blaise says.

"That's totally allowed," Daphne agrees.

"You seriously didn't know that?" Neville asks.

Ron and Draco just gape at their compatriots.

"Moving on!" Millicent says. "Neville?"

"I can lay down a sick rap track," Neville says.

Millicent squeezes her eyes shut. "Thank you, next."

She is met with a stone wall of silence. Or rather a silent wall of silence. Silence is not made of stone, and can't form walls anyway. So it's just a silent of silence.

"...you're the only one of us left," Hermione points out gently.

Millicent takes a deep breath. "Fine."

She turns back to face the Cerberus. "I'm ready."

The Cerberus sits up.

"Great!" Winnie chirps. "Show us what you're made of!"

Millicent begins hamboning.

She hambones to the north. She hambones to the south. She hambones with her feet. She hambones with her mouth. She hambones with her knees. She hambones with her hands. She hambones with her head. She hambones with her glands. She hambones with the wind. She hambones with the dirt. She hambones with the rain. She hambones till it hurts. She hambones like a master. She hambones with great skill. She hambones like a hero. Her hamboning can kill. She hambones with her kidneys. She hambones with her toes. She hambones with her elbows. She hambones with her nose. She hambones for the future. She hambones for the past. She hambones for the present. She hambones with a blast.

And when she finishes hamboning, the Cerberus simply shifts backwards, allowing the group passage to the trapdoor.

"You're welcome," Millicent says smugly.

"Wait wait wait," Professor Squirrel says. "You're going down into that hole?"

"Yes," Hermione says flatly.

Professor Squirrel shrugs. "Okey-doke."

He walks over to the trapdoor, pulls it open, and leaps inside. He lands a few seconds later with a wet squelch.

"Hey guys!" he calls up. "C'mon down! It's soft and warm and inviting!"

The first-years look at each other and shrug.

"Like a pussy!" Squirrel adds.

Suddenly, everyone else in the room is a lot less inclined to jump.

"And it's tight!" Squirrel calls up. "Like a pussy!"

The students stare at each other.

"Okay, are we sure we want to go through with this?" Millicent asks.

"A few hours ago I would have said yes," Blaise says. "Now I'm reconsidering."

"So am I," Hermione says. "I mean, on the one hand I really want to know what's up with this place. But on the other hand..."

"Well, it's our last chance to turn back," Millicent points out. "If we go down there, we might not have a way back up."

"What if there's a ladder?" Draco suggests.

"Yeah," Ron says. "There's gotta be a ladder down there so we can climb back out."

Daphne looks at them quizzically. "Why would they leave us a ladder to get out?"

"Because if they didn't, that'd be a major safety violation," Ron says. "Duh!"

Daphne stares straight ahead. "That's either a good point, or a stupid point."

"Maybe it's both," Blaise says. "A stupid point, but a good one."

"Hey!" Ron and Draco both complain. "We're not stupid!"

"Look," Neville interrupts. "I'm going."

And with that, Neville walks over to the trapdoor and drops down. He also lands with a squelch. Predictably, Vince and Greg follow him, and soon everybody else has dropped down into the unknown.

"Okay," Daphne says flatly. "I now understand why Squirrel didn't say what anything looked like."

"And why he said it was tight," Millicent adds.

"And now we're all going to die," Blaise says, annoyed.

"...is it too much to say that I hate Professor Squirrel?" Hermione asks.

"No," everyone but the professor agrees.

"Now that's not fair!" Professor Squirrel protests. "How was I supposed to know we'd be eaten by a plant?"

"Wait," Neville says. "This is a plant?"

"Uh, yeah," Squirrel says. "What'd you think it was?"

"I know how to deal with this," Neville says confidently. "BURNING HANDS!"

Neville lays his hands on the plant, and it begins to smoke before bursting into flames. Soon, the plant has burned to a dried husk, and the room is filled with smoke. The group stumbles out the exit, coughing and choking, and collapses on the floor of the next room.

"How–" Hermione finally chokes out. "How did you know that would work?"

Neville snaps his fingers, and the floating disembodied holographic head of Snoop Dogg appears.

"Smoke weed every day," the floating head and Neville intone.

"I smoke rocks," Squirrel says unhelpfully.

Millicent stares at him. "That explains so much."

"Okay," Blaise says, heaving himself to his feet. "Where the hell are we?"

The group is in a large room, cluttered with mannequins, paintings, rubber sculptures, and cheap plastic submarines. On the walls of the room, strange films are playing, the images canted and overlapping each other before abruptly cutting to other films at random moments. A goat's eyeball rots in fast motion in one; in another, a hummingbird is born, grows to an adult, then shrinks into being a chick before returning to the egg.

"...I think it's a junkyard," Draco ventures.

Ron shakes his head. "No. My brother runs one of those, and it looks nothing like this."

"Well who says all junkyards have to look the same?" Blaise asks. "Maybe this is just one of those weird junkyards."

Hermione glares at him. "Are you disagreeing because you honestly think that, or because you find it amusing?"

"Socratic method," Blaise shoots back.

"Socrates was a dickhead," Millicent says flatly.

"Millicent, you wound me," Blaise says. "Are you accusing me of being a dickhead?"

"Yes," Millicent says flatly.

"Haven't you heard?" Blaise asks. "Being a dickhead is cool."

"Is that your way of arguing you're not a dickhead?" Hermione asks. "Because that _is_ a novel tactic."

"And now you're teaming up on me?" Blaise complains. "I thought you were my friends!"

"You can think?" Millicent asks. "I thought you just went through set routines. Like some sort of human automaton."

"Please," Hermione scoffs. "Robots are cool."

"...oh. My. God," Blaise says slowly. "Could we _please_ get back on topic? Seriously, what _is_ this place?"

"It's an art gallery," Daphne says.

Everybody turns to stare at her, except for Crabbe and Goyle, who are transfixed by .

"...what?" Ron finally asks.

"The ones we've been through so far have been made by the professors," Daphne explains. "The Cerberus obviously belonged to Hagrid, the plant to Sprout, and this place was clearly designed by Man Ray."

"Okay, that makes sense," Draco admits. "But how do we get out?"

"Well, Man Ray was a Dada artist, which means his works thrived on chaos, incomprehensibility, and outright nonsense," Daphne says. "Therefore, the exit can only be in the least likely place. Therefore, I'd suggest that we try the door under the exit sign first."

Everybody else looks where she's pointing and sees a clearly marked exit door at the end of the room.

"...how did we miss that?" Hermione asks, baffled.

Daphne smirks. "Everyone knows to properly appreciate art, you must see without looking. But since we were all so preoccupied with that, we forgot to look without seeing, which is necessary for finding the exit."

The rest of the group follows her in silence into the next room, which is completely dark until everyone arrives at it. At that point, the door slams shut behind them and intensely bright fluorescent lights flash on. When the group finally manages to blink the spots away from their eyes, they come upon a terrifying sight:

The troll from Halloween.

"Well, well, well," the troll says in a sickening voice. "Look what we have here!"

"Okay," Blaise hisses. "Does anyone have any ideas for how we can get through this?"

"Stand aside!" Draco says proudly as he strides to the front of the group. "For I know how to defeat this monster!"

"Oh really, blondie?" the troll asks scornfully. "The only think you've ever defeated is a tube of hair gel."

Draco simply smirks and pulls out his wallet. "You're forgetting something important, troll?"

"Oh?" the troll asks indulgently. "And what's that?"

Draco pulls out several hundred-dollar bills. "I'm rich, bitch."

The troll scowls as he looks at the bills before taking them and stomping off into a corner of the room.

Hermione stares at him, flabbergasted. "HOW DID THAT WORK?"

Neville looks surprised. "You mean you don't know about the toll?"

"What toll?" Hermione asks.

"The troll toll," Blaise says.

"Yeah," Vince says. "Everyone knows about the troll toll."

"What's the troll toll?" Hermione asks.

"It's the toll you pay to trolls," Greg says.

"Seriously, you've got the highest grade in every class," Daphne adds. "How'd you never come across the troll toll?"

Hermione glares.

"Don't feel bad," Professor Squirrel interjects. "I didn't know about the troll toll either."

Millicent nods. "Somehow that's not surprising."

"Okay, but, what _is_ the troll toll?" Hermione asks. "I mean, how does it work? And what do trolls need with money anyway?"

"Everybody needs money," Millicent scoffs.

Blaise nods sagely. "Money changes everything."

"Money makes the world go round," Draco adds.

"We could all use a little more cash," Ron agrees.

"I like money," Greg says.

"No I like money!" Vince says.

"I do!"

"I do!"

"I do!"

"I do!"

"Who do?"

"You do!"

"I do what?"

"Remind me of the babe."

"What babe?"

"The one with the power."

"What power?"

"The power of voodoo."

"Who do?"

"You do."

"I do what?"

"Remind me of the babe."

"What babe?"

"The one with the power."

"What power?"

"The power of voodoo."

"Who do?"

"You do."

"I do what?"

"Remind me of the babe."

"What babe?"

"OKAY!" Daphne interrupts. "Enough! What were we even talking about?"

"Straight cash homie," Neville says.

"No," Hermione says. "I just wanted to know how the troll toll works."

Ron gives her a patronizing look. "Well then, allow us to explain."

Draco cuts in. "You've got to pay the troll toll to get into that boy's hole. You've gotta pay the troll toll to get in."

"You want the baby boy's hole, you gotta pay the troll toll," Ron adds. "You gotta pay the troll toll to get in."

Hermione's face wrinkles up. "_Baby boy's hole?_"

"It's a metaphor," Blaise explains.

"For _what?_" Hermione asks, flabbergasted.

"Pedophilia," Blaise says.

Hermione buries her face in her hands and groans. "That's not a metaphor! That's not a metaphor at all!"

"Why is _that_ what disturbs you?" Daphne asks.

Blaise casts her a wry look. "Not familiar with our dynamic, are you?"

"I wasn't even supposed to be here tonight!" Daphne complains.

"Neither was I!" Professor Squirrel adds.

"Neither were they!" Neville says, glaring at Draco and Ron.

"We have as much right to be here as you!" Draco and Ron complain.

"Shouldn't we get through that doorway before another stupid argument breaks out?" Millicent interrupts.

Blaise rolls his eyes. "Millicent, you of all people should know that stupid arguments are going to break out regardless of whether or not we go through holes."

"Do you have to keep referring to it as a hole?" Hermione groans.

"Doors are holes too," Squirrel says, trying to sound wise. The effect is ruined by the fact that it's him. "Doors are holes too."

"NOBODY wants to hear you talk about holes," Neville points out. "NOBODY."

"Or doors, either," Blaise says. "Not after what you did to Filch."

"Wait, what'd he do to Filch?" Vince asks.

"He shat on his doorstep," Daphne says flatly.

"Oh," Greg says. "Why'd he do that?"

"Because he's a turdloaf!" Blaise says angrily. "You know what, Millicent, I'm with you. Let's go."

"Go?" Squirrel asks. "Yeah, I could drop one."

And with that, Professor Squirrel lets his pants fall to his ankles and squats down. This naturally doesn't sit well with the troll, who roars, raises his Little League Louisville Slugger, and charges at the professor. Naturally, everyone else scrambles, except for Greg and Vince, each of whom grab one of the professor's arms and drag him out of the room. As they run, he leaves a trail of watery poops on the floor behind him, a trail that thankfully peters off just before they reach the door and fall through.

The group spends the next minute gasping for air and trying not to have adrenaline-fueled heart attacks–except, of course, for Professor Squirrel.

"Hey, anyone have some TP?" he asks vacantly. "I need TP for my bunghole."

"What you need–" Hermione says, eyes on fire but breath still ragged, "–is to DIE."

Squirrel scratches his chest absentmindedly. "That's rude."

"YOU CRAPPED ON THE FLOOR!" Hermione explodes. "YOU CRAPPED ON THE FLOOR AND MADE US RUN FOR OUR LIVES FROM A TROLL DRACO ALREADY PAID OFF, YOU'VE APPARENTLY BEEN BULLYING FILCH ALL YEAR, AND YOU'RE A HORRIBLE, HORRIBLE, HOR-RI-BLE TEACHER! I'VE LEARNED MORE DEFENSE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS FROM THE BACK OF A BOX OF HONEY NUT CHEERIOS THIS YEAR THAN I DID FROM YOU! YOU'RE SO INCOMPETENT, YOU CAN'T EVEN DO A ROLL CALL CORRECTLY! YOU HAVE WASTED TWO HOURS A DAY, TWO DAYS A WEEK, EVERY WEEK, THIS WHOLE YEAR! I'VE SPENT EVERY CLASS WITH YOU READING FAULKNER, BECAUSE EVEN WITH HIS INABILITY TO STATE A THOUGHT CLEARLY, PLAINLY, OR CONCISELY, HE'S STILL A HELL OF A LOT MORE INTERESTING AND INFORMATIVE THAN YOU ARE! I'VE READ MOBY DICK, AND SAY WHAT YOU WILL ABOUT THEM, AT LEAST THE HUNDREDS OF PAGES WHERE MELVILLE RAMBLES ABOUT THE PROPER WAY TO TIE A SAIL TELL YOU HOW! TO TIE! A SAIL! YOU COULDN'T TIE UP A PHONE LINE! YOU COULDN'T TIE A KNOT! YOU COULDN'T EVEN TIE A TIE! AND THAT'S THE _LEAST_ OF YOUR PROBLEMS! YOU FAIL SO UTTERLY, SO COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY, SO MAGNIFICENTLY, THAT YOU ARE _EASILY_ THE WORST! TEACHER! I HAVE EVER! HAD! THE DISPLEASURE! OF HAVING TO DEAL WITH! AND THAT INCLUDES THE WOMAN WHO THOUGHT THAT BULLYING WAS THE FAULT OF THE BULLIED! AT LEAST SHE DIDN'T DROP HER PANTS IN FRONT OF ME!"

Greg and Vince start laughing. Hermione whirls around to look at them.

"And _what_," she asks viciously, "is so _funny?_"

Vince points at Squirrel. "He turded!"

"On Filch's door!" Greg adds.

This brings Hermione's rage up short. "Did it really take you two until now to realize that?"

Daphne sighs. "Yes. It did."

Hermione blinks a couple times. "My god. They really _are_ stupid."

"Try sharing a dorm with them," Daphne says bitterly.

Hermione nods. "I'm sorry."

"So am I," Daphne says. "So what's all this?"

In front of them is a large chessboard. The side they're on has the black pieces, and the other side has the white pieces.

"Well, Draco," Ron says proudly, "stand aside. You may have the money to take care of trolls, but chess is _my_ game."

"Wait, really?" Daphne asks. "You can play chess?"

"Yes," Ron says defensively.

Daphne shrugs. "Fine. Go ahead."

Ron steps up to the board and clears his throat. "I'm ready."

None of the pieces move.

"Go?" he guesses. "Start? Play? Begin?"

Neville groans. "This is one of those games where we all have to take the place of a piece, isn't it?"

Everyone looks at him oddly.

"How do you figure that?" Hermione asks.

"It would be annoying," Neville says. "And this whole course is nothing if not annoying."

Blaise shrugs. "He makes a good point."

"Fine," Hermione huffs. "We'll all take a spot. But I call queen."

"Yas queen," Blaise draws.

Hermione flips him off.

"Fine, but I have to be king," Ron says. "It offers the best vantage point."

"You just don't want to get your ass pounded," Draco says.

Ron glares at him. "And where are you going?"

"I'll be your closest advisor," Draco says. "The pointy-headed guy over there."

"Bishop, Draco," Hermione sighs. "It's called a bishop."

"I'll take the other bishop," Daphne says. "You could use some sanity nearby."

"Alright," Ron says with a nod. "Crabbe, Goyle, take the pawns on the edge of the board."

"Why pawns?" Neville asks indignantly.

"Would you trust them with a more powerful position?" Ron asks.

Neville shrugs. "Fair point. I call rook."

"I'll take the other rook then," Millicent says.

"And as for Professor Squirrel," Ron says. He grins wickedly. "You take the pawn in front of the king."

"What about me?" Blaise asks.

"Knight," Ron says. "Either side. I don't really care which."

Everyone takes their places. Ron takes a deep breath, looks at the board, and then nods.

The game starts with the seventh pawn moving forward two spaces.

Ron grins. "Pawn to e5."

Nothing happens.

"I _said_, pawn to e5!" Ron repeats.

Once again, nothing happens.

Ron growls. "Squirrel! Move forward two spaces!"

"Oh," Squirrel says, absentmindedly scratching his neck. "Right."

Squirrel moves to the appointed place then stops. "Now what?"

"Stay there!" Ron barks.

The kingside bishop's pawn moves forward to confront Squirrel.

Ron stares at the board, confounded.

"No," he breathes. "It can't _possibly_ be this easy."

"What?" Hermione asks. "What is it?"

Ron's brow furrows. "Just hold on a minute."

They have to hold on for several minutes as Ron stares at the board before shaking his head.

"Queen to h4," he says.

Hermione looks at him, confused. "What?"

"Just–just move diagonally to the edge of the board," Ron says. He shakes his head. "It _can't_ be this easy."

Hermione does as requested, and the checkmate is complete.

The chess pieces all shuffle to the sides of the board, and the group of 10 is allowed to walk through unhindered. They enter a room that has several bottles sitting on a shelf side-by-side, a door made of white flames, and nothing else.

"...okay what," Blaise says flatly.

"There's a note," Millicent points out.

Hermione snatches it up.

"If you really think you're getting through here, you're a complete dunderhead," she reads. "Sincerely, S. Snape."


	34. An Obstacle Course Is Conquered

Hermione stares at the sheet of paper. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Uh, Hermione?" Blaise asks nervously.

"There's no way this is true," Hermione says, annoyed. "There's just no way."

"Hermione?" Blaise tries again.

"We came all this way," Hermione continues, unimpeded. "Faced down all those obstacles. We did everything we were supposed to! We hamboned the Cerberus, smoked the weed, went through the art gallery, paid the troll toll, and played chess! We faced down danger after danger after danger, all while dragging behind us our idiotic, useless professor, and now we're not even going to get to see what we were going after because Professor Snape decided to make his puzzle a dead end? It's not fair!"

"...well at least we had fun?" Blaise ventures.

"Fun?" Hermione says, her upset voice approaching a shriek. "Fun? We had fun?" She stops. "Actually, yeah, I did have fun."

"Me too," Millicent agrees. "This wasn't such a horrible idea."

Neville shrugs. "I didn't have anything better to do."

"We may not have discovered what's at the end of the corridor, but we did figure out what you guys were up to," Draco adds.

"And really, that's what we've been trying to do for the past few months," Ron agrees.

"So yeah, this was a good experience," Draco says.

"Not for me," Daphne says sourly. "I should be in bed by now."

"I'll take you to bed," Neville says in a tone he thinks is suave but just comes off as creepy.

Daphne glares. "And here I was, thinking Vince and Greg were the stupidest people here."

"Wait so hold on," Squirrel pipes up. "Are you telling me we're stopping because of that flame door?"

Everyone ignores him, as they should have been doing since the beginning of the school year.

"You were right, Blaise," Hermione admits. "I _did_ need a break from studying, and this was the perfect distraction. Thank you."

"Hey, what are friends for?" Blaise says, smiling.

"So what do we do now?" Millicent asks.

Blaise shrugs. "Head back the way we came?"

"Sounds good to me," Draco agrees.

"Yeah, this was fun," Ron says.

"Think we can do it next year?" Neville asks.

Millicent shrugs. "Anything's possible."

"Are we gonna need to pay the troll toll again?" Draco asks. "Because I might have to bust out my credit card for that one."

"I don't think so," Ron says. "We already paid him to go through."

"Besides, I can help," Daphne cuts it. "I'll chip in a few bucks if it means we get out of here."

Draco smiles at her. "Thanks."

"You guys go ahead," Professor Squirrel says. "I'll just be going through that door over there."

And with that, Professor Squirrel walks through the door of flames.


	35. Professor Squirrel Quits His Job

"What the hell?"

This is the first sentence that greets Professor Squirrel when he walks out of the flames.

"Holy fuck, you're on fire!"

That is the second sentence.

"Cone of cold!"

That's the third sentence, and it's followed by an intensely freezing blast that puts out the flames.

"Hey Snape," Squirrel says amicably, scratching his neck. "What's going on?"

"Squirrel?" Snape asks, confused. "What are you doing here?"

The Defense professor shrugs. "I dunno. I just followed everyone else."

Snape raises an eyebrow.

"I think they turned back at the flames, though," Squirrel says, staring at nothing. "Don't know why."

Snape blinks several times in amazement.

"Squirrel," he says slowly. "You were, quite literally, on fire. I had to use an ice spell to put you out."

Squirrel doesn't react.

"At this very moment, I can tell that you've got burns and frostbite all over your body," Snape continues. "How are you not unconscious right now?"

Squirrel continues to look off into the middle distance. "I smoke rocks."

"...that explains so much."

"Hey!" Squirrel suddenly yells, attention caught by something else. "How'd you get in here?"

Snape rolls his eyes. "I took the elevator from the staff room, like a _normal_ person."

"There's an elevator?" Squirrel asks.

"Well yeah," Snape says. "How else are we supposed to get down here?"

"I guess that makes sense," Squirrel admits. "So what's with that...thingy thing...you know, over there?"

Snape glances over at the object Squirrel indicated. "That? It's some kind of magic mirror. It shows porn."

"Really?" Squirrel asks, interested.

"Yeah, at least that's what I've seen in it," Snape says. "Good stuff, too. Mostly redheads."

Squirrel licks his lips. "Can I take a look?"

Snape shrugs. "Be my guest."

The crackhead wanders over to the mirror and takes a good look. His jaw drops.

"This isn't porn..." he murmurs. "This isn't porn at all?"

"Really?" Snape asks. "What do you see?"

"I see me," Squirrel says. "And I'm surrounded by bags of cocaine."

Snape raises an eyebrow. "What."

"Oh, what's that, me? You want me to step a little bit to the side? Well, I guess I can..."

Squirrel takes a couple of steps to the left. A sack of cocaine flies out of the mirror and lands next to him. Snape's other eyebrow joins the first.

"Okay," Snape says, standing up. Another sack flies out of the mirror. "Well, this has been strange, but Squirrel, I believe–"

"IT'S MINE, BITCH!"

And with that, Squirrel whirls around and buries his fist in Severus's nose. Naturally, his nose does not take well to the sudden application of blunt force, and Snape falls backwards, hands covering his face.

"My nose!" Snape whines, as more cocaine exits the mirror. "Why do they always go for the nose?"

Another Professor Squirrel hops out of the mirror and nods at the first. "Let's go."

"Cocaine time, baby!" the original Professor Squirrel cheers. "Floating Disk!"

A disk is conjured underneath the bags of cocaine, and the two Squirrels rush over to the elevator, the disk floating between them. By the time Snape is able to get to his feet and blink the tears away from his eyes, the doors are shutting even though the door close button doesn't work. All he can do is stare at the elevator doors angrily.


	36. Professor Dumbledore Has A Bad Morning

Professor Dumbledore is not having a good morning.

It was supposed to be a good morning. It was the Saturday before finals, which meant that pretty much nobody was causing trouble, the teachers had finished most of their grading, and everybody was in preparation mode. Which, of course, meant that he didn't have to worry about much of anything.

Unfortunately, his day took a sharp turn for the worse when he woke up alone, with only a note on the nightstand informing him that he was out of Listerine, as apparently his lover from the previous night had decided to finish it off while getting dressed and slipping away silently.

Waking up alone was not how he planned to start his day. He _planned_ to start with a morning blowjob, followed by pancakes. Neither one occurred, because _somebody_, specifically Argus Filch, had forgotten to put pancake mix on the shopping list. If Dumbledore was prone to seeing conspiracies, he would assume that this was intentional on the part of Argus, to punish him for not having found the prankster constantly befouling his doorstep. Since he is indeed prone to seeing conspiracies, he assumed that was the case anyway.

Then, just as he was settling into his office for the day, he realized that his printer was out of paper. This wouldn't have been a big deal were it not for the fact that the supply closet was all the way past Ravenclaw tower, so it was going to be a ten minute walk, plus futzing around in there to find the printer paper, then making sure that it was 8.5 by 14 instead of 8.5 by 11, then walking back, then trying to fit the paper in the printer, and then–

Well, any day where you have to use a printer is pretty much guaranteed to be a bad day, and the likelihood of it being a bad day goes up with every new annoyance the printer chooses to throw at you. So it was for Professor Dumbledore, who could feel himself sinking into intense annoyance as he headed over to the supply closet to find the paper he needed.

His time there would end up putting Dumbledore in a very, _very_ bad mood that lasted the rest of the weekend.

* * *

Percy Weasley is being pulled down a hallway by his girlfriend.

"Are you sure this is such a good idea?" he asks pusily. "After all, if we get caught–"

Slagathor scoffs. "We're both prefects. And we both know that nobody's _ever_ in the supply closet."

"But–" Percy tries to interrupt.

Slagathor suddenly stops and puts her hand over his mouth. "You listen to me and you listen to me good, Weasley. I have been trying for months–for _literal fucking months_–to get you to fuck me. Now we are going into that supply closet, we are shutting the door, we are _locking_ it so nobody can burst in on us, and then you are going to pound me until I am _physically. Incapable. Of walking._ Are we clear?"

Percy nods awkwardly (and also pusily).

"Good," Slagathor says, removing her hand from his mouth and turning around to continue walking towards the supply closet.

"But–" Percy starts to say before stopping himself. "Uh. Well. I'm kind of. Um. Inexperienced? And I don't know what I'm supposed to do, really. I mean, I know the basics of procreation, but–"

"Don't worry," Slagathor says. "I'll tell you if you're doing something right."

"What if I'm doing something wrong?" Percy asks nervously.

Slagathor doesn't respond, choosing instead to throw the door to the supply closet open.

* * *

When the door to the supply closet is thrown open, Dumbledore whirls around, as one does.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Percy exclaims, sounding shocked and pus-filled. "What are you doing in the closet?"

Dumbledore zeroes in on him and stalks towards him angrily.

"You think you're funny, don't you," Dumbledore says meanly. "You think you're real, real, real fucking funny, don't you, shitbag."

Percy looks confused. "Well, uh–"

"You know what you can do, you little turd?" Dumbledore continues. "You know what you can do? You can GO FUCK YOURSELF, YOU COCKMONGREL!"

"W-w-what?" Percy stammers out pusily.

"CLEAN THE SEMEN OUT OF YOUR EARS, YOU GLORIFIED TURDWAGON!" Dumbledore yells. "YOU MAKE ONE MORE CRACK AT ME, AND I TURN YOUR ASS INTO A FINELY-POWDERED MEATSNOW! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"

Percy clamps his lips shut as tears spring to his eyes.

"Yeah," Dumbledore says softly but cruelly. "Yeah, you cry about it. You fucking cry about it, you little BITCH!"

And with that, Dumbledore pushes past him and stalks off down the hall, completely forgetting about the paper he came to get and leaving it behind in the supply closet.

"So," Slagathor says awkwardly after Dumbledore has been gone for a couple minutes. "Do you want to–you know–"

"No," Percy chokes out, still trying desperately not to cry. "No, the mood's gone. It's–it's gone."

And with that, Percy sadly stumbles back towards Gryffindor tower, focusing more on not crying than on anything else.

"Well that sucks," Slagathor mutters to herself after he leaves. "I was really looking forward to losing my virginity, too."

It's at that moment that she spots a fourth-year Hufflepuff minding his own business.

"Hey! You!" she barks at him.

The student looks up at her, surprised.

"Come over here and fuck me!"

Instead of acting like any normal teenage boy, Cedric Diggory does the sane thing and makes a run for it.

* * *

Dumbledore's day only gets worse when he gets back to his office and finds Snape waiting for him. At this point, he can't bring himself to make the creepy eye twinkles–not that it would do much with Snape.

"Severus," he says, inclining his head. "Why have you chosen to grace me with your presence?"

Snape gives him an odd look. "Why have _you_ chosen to be overly formal?"

"Why have _you_ chosen to be a bitch to everyone but Slytherins?"

"Why have _you_ chosen to withhold information?"

"Severus, I already told you, I don't know who keeps crapping on Argus's welcome mat."

"I meant about the cocaine on the mirror."

And at this, Dumbledore narrows his eyes.

"What are you referring to, exactly?" he asks.

"Somehow, last night, Professor Squirrel climbed out of the mirror with several hundred pounds of cocaine," Snape says.

"How'd he get my cocaine?" Dumbledore blurts out. "That mirror's only supposed to show your greatest desire!"

Snape blinks. "Well. That...that makes me seem really pathetic."

"You are pathetic," Dumbledore says. "But that's not the issue. The issue here is how the hell did that crackhead get into the room? I purposefully didn't tell him about the elevator just in case!"

"Wait. Crackhead?"

"Yeah," Dumbledore says. "I hired him in the hopes he'd be able to clean up. Also, he was cheap. BUT NOW HE'S STOLEN MY COCAINE!"

"...yes, crackheads generally do have a taste for cocaine."

"Severus, I trusted you! And you let yourself get bamboozled by a crackhead?"

"I wasn't bamboozled so much as punched in the nose."

"That's not the issue, the issue is how did he even get into the room!"

"He climbed through the door!"

"The door?"

"The door!"

"The door of FIRE?"

"The door of fire! He climbed through it!"

"And what did you do?"

"I put out the fire!"

"Severus, you MORON! If you hadn't done that, he'd have burned to death, and I'd still have my cocaine!"

"Which raises the question of why you had cocaine in the first place!"

"For my annual end-of-the-school-year orgy of course!"

Severus stares at his boss in abject horror.

"But now that's ruined!" Dumbledore rants, completely oblivious. "I was gonna have an orgy, a huge orgy, a massive orgy just filled with beautiful beautiful men, but now I can't do that because I don't have any cocaine! Congratulations, Snape, you fucked up my annual party! You fuckup!"

Snape blinks a couple of times. "Okay. Leaving aside the fact that I suddenly understand why you have me constantly brewing various STD cures, why do you need cocaine for an orgy?"

Dumbledore shakes his head, disgusted. "Severus, have you really never been to an orgy?"

"I haven't," Snape confirms.

Dumbledore ignores him. "Because that orgy you went to–well, it wasn't much of an orgy. Or maybe you straight people just don't know how to orgy. In fact, the more I consider it, the more that makes sense."

"I've never gone to an orgy," Snape says. "How would–why would–who would–"

"But gay people, such as myself, we know how to _orgy_!" Dumbledore continues. "And how do you orgy? Massive amounts of sex, massive amounts of coke. Sex, coke, sex, coke, sex, sex, sex, coke, sex, coke, sex, sex, coke, sex. And THAT, my dear Severus, is how to orgy properly!"

Snape does his best to look unimpressed in order to disguise the fact that he's actually a confusing combination of disgusted, confused, and slightly turned on.

"But now you've ruined it!" Dumbledore says, getting back to his original point. "How could you do this to me, Severus? How?"

Snape just looks at him. "I only wanted to know what was going on."

"Well now you know," Dumbledore huffs. "And now I'm out several hundred pounds of cocaine!"

Snape gapes at him. "In what world would _anybody_ need that much cocaine?"

Dumbledore looks at him, unimpressed. "Severus. It was going to be a really big, really awesome orgy."

The two sit in silence for several seconds.

"Well then how'd he get out?" Dumbledore asks. "Wait, don't tell me. He set all my coke on fire, didn't he."

Snape looks abashed. "No. He...took the elevator."

"He took the elevator?" Dumbledore repeats.

"With his mirror clone."

Dumbledore winces. "I suppose that I should have seen that coming when I decided to hide stuff in a magical mirror."

"Right," Snape says, getting up to leave. "So, that's all, just thought you'd want to know, have a nice day, ta-ta for now, see ya, bye."

"Wait right there," Dumbledore says commandingly.

Snape pauses for a moment and then runs for it.

"Dammit!" Dumbledore complains to his empty office. "I just wanted to ask him to brew up some of his shigellosis cure!"


	37. Dumbledore Barges Into The Staff Room

Dumbledore throws open the door to the staff room. "Bad news, everybody! Snape, like a _total_ bitch, managed to let Professor Squirrel steal my cocaine!"

The few members of the staff in the room stare at him.

"...I'm sorry what?" Madame Hooch eventually asks.

"Snape, who is a _total_ bitch, let Squirrel steal my cocaine," Dumbledore repeats.

"...and why are you telling us this?" MAN RAY BITCH ventures.

"Well, Squirrel left the school. With my cocaine," Dumbledore says.

Hooch nods. "Understandable."

"That Severus, that _total_ bitch, let him steal," Dumbledore finishes. "So we need someone else to proctor final exams for his class."

"While we understand that you're upset with Snape, are you sure it's his fault?" MAN RAY BITCH asks. "After all, _he_ wasn't involved in the theft, apart from apparently failing to stop it."

"Failing, like a _total_ bitch," Dumbledore says.

"Well you failed too," MAN RAY BITCH points out. "So doesn't that mean _you're_ a total bitch?"

Dumbledore shakes his head. "No. Just Severus."

The door swings open.

"Dumbledore!" Flitwick announces. "I have grievances!"

Dumbledore turns to look at him. "How did you know I was here?"

"He didn't," MAN RAY BITCH supplies. "He's been throwing open random doors and announcing that every time."

"Flitwick, why didn't you just come up to my office?" Dumbledore asks.

"You won't let me in!" the diminutive teacher complains. "So I have to wander the school searching everywhere for you!"

"I won't let you in because you never have anything but complaints," Dumbledore points out. "You never show up with 'oh hai Albus i baked these cupcakes for you and they don't even have any human meats in them this time just sugar and deliciousness' it's always 'ALBUS I HAZ CUMPLAINTS I WANTS SPEAK MANAGER.'"

Those in the room stare at him.

"Half of that wasn't even English," Madame Hooch feels the need to point out.

"Why would anyone make cupcakes with human meat?" MAN RAY BITCH asks. "That...that sounds disgusting."

"Oh really?" Dumbledore asks. "What if I told you they were made with pony meat instead?"

"What," MAN RAY BITCH says flatly.

"Pony meat," Dumbledore says. "For the party."

"What party?" Flitwick asks, curious despite himself.

"Pinkie's Pity Party," Dumbledore says.

"What the hell is Pinkie's Pity Party?" Madame Hooch asks, completely confused.

"Oh, it's just this guy," Dumbledore says dismissively. "He dresses up as a clown. A depressed clown. And sings and dances and comedies."

MAN RAY BITCH looks astounded. "That's _Puddles_ Pity Party, you buffoon!"

Dumbledore pentagrams his arms and looks cross. "I don't think that's an appropriate way to speak to the Headmaster."

"Oh yeah?" Flitwick says. "Well then, if you don't want to be spoken to that way, explain to me why everybody's assuming I didn't put anything in the obstacle course! Huh?"

"Because we took it out," Dumbledore says.

Flitwick's face falls. "What?"

"Yeah, that chess thing? Totally lame," Dumbledore says. "We got rid of it."

MAN RAY BITCH clears his throat. "Actually, we kept that one. The one we got rid of was the flying keys."

"What?" Dumbledore says, shocked. "But that was the most fun one of all!"

"_Anyway_," Flitwick says, trying to draw everyone's attention back to him, "all the students are saying that was McGonagall's!"

"I mean, think about it!" Dumbledore continues to rant. "Flying is fun, and cool, and awesome, and chess is for nerds!"

"That's not the point!" Flitwick says angrily.

"Nerds!" Dumbledore repeats. "And is there any place in school for nerds? NO! School is where nerds learn to be reviled and hate everybody!"

"That's not true!" Flitwick says. "Nerds do well in school!"

Dumbledore casts him a withering stare. "Nerds do well at _schoolwork_. Nerds, generally speaking, do not enjoy school one bit. _Especially_ once they're teenagers, surrounded by other teenagers, most of whom loathe them."

Flitwick gapes for a few seconds before deciding to try and get the conversation back on track. "I want you to tell the students the chess set was my idea!"

"How do the students know about the chess set, anyway?" Dumbledore asks. "The whole point of not telling anybody about the secret third floor obstacle course and stationing a guard Cerberus in that room was so nobody would get any ideas."

"Oh, everybody knew about that by March," Madam Hooch says idly. "Apparently the heads are named Winnie, Kevin, and Paul, and they like being petted."

Dumbledore drops into a sulk. "Well that's just great. Everybody knew about it, my Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher quit just before exams, and THAT TOTAL BITCH SNAPE LET MY COCAINE GET STOLEN!"

"DUMBLEDORE!" Flitwick complains. "You HAVE to let the children know I played a part in the obstacle course creation!"

Dumbledore scratches his chin. "No, I don't think I do. Now, Man Ray, could you proctor Professor Squirrel's exams?"

"Wait, shouldn't that be my responsibility?" Madame Hooch asks.

"You're right!" Dumbledore exclaims. "As substitute teacher, you should indeed substitute! I know that this will take away from the last week of school which you essentially have as vacation time, and I would never dream of doing that to you, but since you volunteered, well, who am I to refuse? Ta-ta, Madame Hooch! The second-years exams are first, and they occur at 4 P.M. Which is in 12 minutes, you'll have to hurry! Well anyway, goodbye everybody, especially Flitwick, who did the most boring part of the obstacle course!"

Flitwick bursts into tears and flees. "NOBODY UNDERSTANDS ME!"

Dumbledore nods sharply and leaves. Hooch glares at his back as he goes.

"He did that just to trick me," she mutters angrily. "So that instead of ordering me to do it, he can claim that I volunteered."

"I'm just glad he didn't ask me," Hagrid says.

Before the stunned eyes of the other teachers in the room, Hagrid unfolds himself from a small, hidden nook, eventually standing before them.

"...were you here this whole time?" MAN RAY BITCH asks.

"Of course," Hagrid says. "I know all the nooks and crannies around this school."

"And Dumbledore doesn't?" Madame Hooch asks.

"No, not at all," Hagrid says. "Filch does, though. He's got this map that shows him everywhere in the school. And also everyone."

"...right," Madame Hooch says. "Well, I've got to go proctor a freaking Defense Against the Dark Arts exam."

"Good luck," MAN RAY BITCH tells her.

Madame Hooch gives him a small smile. "Thanks."


End file.
